


Penance

by tambrathegreat



Series: The Slytherin Redemption Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambrathegreat/pseuds/tambrathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has an odd request of Harry Potter.  He wants Harry to be his son's godfather. </p><p>Story 2 in the Slytherin Redemption Series, but was published and written first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters and settings belong to the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. I make no profit from this endeavor.

Draco Malfoy sat across from the Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort a humbled creature. Harry noted with some interest his dishevelled Muggle clothes, his drawn face, and the apparent humility in his downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. Eight years after the war and after six years of incarceration in Azkaban and Malfoy wanted to speak to him. Harry adjusted his Auror robes as the noise of the Muggle pub swirled around them. An inane song began playing in the background.

“Why did you want to see me, Malfoy?”

Draco's bleak, grey gaze darted to Harry’s face, and then returned to the scarred table. “I need a godfather for my son, and since I lack any friends, I thought I'd ask you.”

Harry felt pinned to the spot in which he sat. “No.”

Malfoy seemed to fold in on himself. A bright tear slipped from his eye and landed with a splash on his clenched fist. Harry's gaze travelled up the other man's arm, noting the scars along the veins, the faded Dark Mark. Dammit, he still suffered from his need to save people. “I misspoke. I meant, I need to know more before I make the decision. And of course, I'll have to talk to my wife.”

“I thought as much.” The former Slytherin git withdrew a thick manila envelope from the seat beside him. “This should explain everything.”

Harry took it reluctantly. A woman approached her hair a wild combination of colours. Harry looked away from her as Tonks' face replaced the interloper's. She sat next to Malfoy, her voice hushed. “Drake, how's Tish?”

Draco flinched. “The same, Liz.”

“Oh, thank God for small favours.” She stood. “I've got to get back to work. I'll be 'round tonight to spell you so you can get some rest.”

Harry watched the woman walk away. “I thought you said you didn't have any friends.”

“My son's a wizard. I don't have any friends from our world.” He shrugged. “If Snape were alive, I'd have asked him. He would've appreciated the irony.”

“So, I take it you're married to a Muggle?” Harry asked gently, taking great care to stifle the surprise he felt.

“Not married, no.” Draco smirked. “She wouldn't have me, not when... Just read what I've written. I'll be here on Friday at the same time. Let me know what you decide.”

“Can't I just Floo you?” Harry asked, his Fridays were always busy with staff meetings and the like.

“I'm not connected. I don't do magic anymore.” Draco pulled away from the table, his lean frame silhouetted against the glare of the neon lights shining from the bar. “I've got to get back. My sitter won't be able to stay past one.”

Harry watched the man walk out the door. He gathered the parcel and stuck it absently in his robes. He'd read it later, if only to understand why the git was no longer a wizard.

&*&*&

Harry Floo'ed home that night to be greeted enthusiastically by his wife. Ginny in her second trimester of pregnancy was gorgeous. He rubbed her slight bulge. “How's my boy?”

“Fine, if you hadn't already named him.” She pulled a rueful face. “Are you sure about Albus Severus? He's going to think we hate him.”

She nuzzled his neck, and Harry stifled a groan of pleasure. She said her smile evident in her tone, “James is at Ron and Hermione's.”

He shrugged off his robes, which fell with a thunk to the floor. Ginny shifted her gaze to the offending article. “What have you got in there, some of Hagrid's rock cakes?”

“It's nothing.” Harry wasn't a man to be deterred from his mission. He kissed her throat, eliciting a soft gurgle from her. “I had a meeting with Draco Malfoy today. He gave me something to read.”

“Malfoy?” His warm and willing wife stepped back from him. “That's a name I haven't heard in years. He didn't hex you did he?”

Harry frowned, then began loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar. “No. I think he's in trouble. He asked me to do something for him.”

Ginny was leading him to their bedroom. “What's new with him being in trouble?”

Harry halted. “Not that kind of trouble. I think... I need to read what he wrote. He said it would explain everything. It has something to do with a woman he's involved with.”

Ginny shook her head. “Read it then, _after_ we have our date.”

Harry grinned as she took his hand a began pulling him upstairs towards the bedroom. “I love my wife.”

&*&*&

Harry shifted through the unbound papers. His sharp, green eyes scanned the words. The document was obviously typed on a typewriter and single-spaced. Malfoy seemed to have adjusted to his changed circumstances admirably. Harry rubbed his eyes underneath the glasses he still wore, his signature look, according to his wife. He supposed he would just have to start at the beginning. He lifted the first page and read.

&*&*&

To my son, Scorpius, this is my history. The parts you'll need to know when you no longer have your mother and me to watch over you. I hope that your godparents will teach you well. I hope they'll not tell you what an evil bastard I've been most of my life. If they do, I've left this letter to let you know that, above all things, I loved you and I loved your mother. You were both my salvation.

I also want you to know that I made a conscious effort to be more than the prejudiced, spoiled son of a pureblood so that I could honour a man whose valour saved me and your mother. His name was Severus Snape and he was the most courageous man I have ever known.

I was born into privilege, to a family whose prejudices were deeply ingrained. I was taught to hate all things not of our world. Yes, by now I'm sure you're aware of your wizarding heritage. This world, along with my own family's bloodline, is what I was taught was superior to all other things. 

I was a pureblood prat. My father, your grandfather, was Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater and utter bastard to all but myself and your grandmother, Narcissa. They, I suppose, are still confined to Azkaban. After the war they were given life sentences, and the Ministry of Magic is probably still disinclined to commute the terms of their imprisonment. I can't say as I blame the Ministry. What we all did in the name of purity was beyond disgusting.

But, I digress. I am writing to tell you my story, not give you a history of the most recent conflict to shake the wizarding world.

I first saw your mother at Malfoy Manor. A painful binding spell cast by Bellatrix Lestrange, my mother’s sister and my dear aunt, shackled her. I had earlier been out on a Muggle raid, terrorizing people that I had been taught were inferior. When I entered the room that contained your mother, I was drawn to her, as I had been no other woman. She was beautiful in her disarray and defiant in the face of the horrors that my loving Aunt was beginning to inflict upon her soft flesh.

Aunt Bella was known for her mad brutality and her love of domination. She was as evil and as insane as the mad creature we all followed (however reluctantly) and a little more frightening-- to me anyway.

She turned to me, her expression gloating. “Nephew, take over for me. Finish her off. I'm being summoned.”

I hadn't participated in torture before. I had, as I indicated before, been on raids, but I had always hung back casting useless spells if spotted. I wasn't depraved enough to desire what my aunt and the others considered sport. Snape was behind me, his cold, sneering presence a strange comfort. He waited as I tried to cast the first spell and failed. Your mother spat at me, and I cast repeatedly with no effect.

Snape darted forward to her his wand drawn. “Dammit boy, you're being watched. Do something that will produce more than a tickle.”

He cast and I watched in horror as she screamed and writhed. Her bowels let loose and the smell was disgusting. I gagged. Snape cast again. I watched him, this man who had shown me mercy time and again. His face was schooled to stone but a fleeting air of guilt and horror lingered about him.

He dragged me forward, his hand a claw against my wrist. “Don't make me do that again, boy. Now take over.”

I tried, but the girl was my age, the age of my schoolmates and friends. I staunched the flow of my tears; they were held in painful abeyance at the back of my throat. I cast again and saw Snape do the same, but this time, there was no reaction to our spells. He seemed relieved.

To no one in particular he said, “She's dead. I'll dump her where she'll be most useful.”

He cleansed the excrement from her body almost tenderly. His hands never shook, his voice never faltered, but he seemed diminished. I watched him leave with her body Levitated before him.

I fled to my rooms to be sick.

Later, Aunt Bella came to me, her face a mask of fury. “You always have to let Snape do your work. He's a dirty half-blood and better at this game than you.”

She slapped me open-handed and let her claws rake my cheek. She repeated her blows and I covered my head with my arms. I was surprised when the first _Crucio_ hit me. 

Oh, my son, I deserved it. I had put everyone's life in danger with my inability to act as a proper Death Eater. I begged my aunt for the excruciating penance as she cast again. The agony lasted until my father came into the room shouting obscenities at her. My pale mother hovered around me, drawing me to her. Her face was set in lines of grief and outrage. I had hoped that night to die, but as you can tell, I didn't.

They left and I crawled to my bed. I slept fitfully until I heard my door open. I cringed and am ashamed to say, wet myself.

It was Snape. He closed the door and lit the room with his wand. He sat on the bed next to me. He saw the spreading mark on my crotch and raised an expressive eyebrow. He cleansed me as I had seen him do to your mother, and dried my sheets.

I was crawling with humiliation, and so I lashed out at him. “Are you here to bugger me, Snape?”

I waited for his fury. No one, and I mean NO ONE, taunted Severus Snape without risk of bodily injury. He surprised me by laughing, his cultured drawl purred, “No, my taste runs towards slender, green-eyed women, not piss-soaked little boys.”

I recoiled from him. “I'm sorry sir. I don't know why...”

He stopped my verbal regurgitation with an elegantly raised hand. “You did not kill her. You are not a murderer.”

He stood and left the room in his swooping way. I stared after him. My soul was still whole.

&*&*&

Harry wiped his face with a shaking hand. If he and Ginny were to become the child's godparents, the little boy would never see this document. What could Malfoy have been thinking? He was complicit in the torture of the child's mother. He had admitted he was expected to kill her. For Merlin's sake, did the man have no sense?

&*&*&

Scorpius, I'll not dwell on my time as a Death Eater. I did eventually take part in acts that I would prefer to stay hidden from your eyes. I want you to know, however, that whatever atrocities I committed I did to survive. I took no joy or pride from them.

Severus Snape talked to me at length (well at length when you consider how taciturn he really was) about my role in this madness. We had just come back from Hogwarts. He had been appointed Headmaster by then, and I had begun to have my doubts as to his allegiance. I kept them to myself. I was a thorough Slytherin still and as was that breed's wont, I thought I might use the information to my advantage.

We sat in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor. He stirred his tea idly, his homely face framed by that awful, black, greasy mess that he seemed to cherish. Looking at his ugliness, I wondered why he never partook of the dubious pleasures provided by my Uncle Rodolphus while my Aunt was tending to the Dark Lord. I must have voiced this, because Snape's black gaze flew to mine. “Some acts are sacred, Mr. Malfoy, and not to be defiled by this existence.”

I had heard rumours about his sexual experience, or lack thereof. I had to ask, “Are you a virgin, sir?”

He smirked. “There are worse things to be; rapist being one.”

Not an answer, but I hadn't really expected one. I don't know why, but I felt I had to confide in him. “Sir, I am. A virgin, I mean. I know everyone thought Pansy and I were lovers, but I just couldn't take advantage of her that way. She's a bit dim."

“Uncle Rodolphus wants me to go to the next revel with him. He said there would be some Muggle entertainment.”

Snape grimaced. “Do you find that sort of thing titillating?”

“No,” I said. “They'll expect me to rape someone won't they?”

My words hung in the air as if made of granite.

“I expect so.” He dropped the spoon he was holding with a clatter to the table. “You don't have to go. I'll find a way for you to be on assignment.”

“Thank you, sir.” I flushed, relieved at his willingness to rescue me again.

He peered at me. “Your friends, Crabbe and Goyle were at the last revel. Why don't you want to join their ranks?”

“My mother." I answered as I felt my face grow warm. "I keep thinking 'What if the woman were her?' I know, what's expected of me, but I just can't shake that thought.”

Snape stood. “Just be a good soldier, do what they tell you to do, and don't volunteer your services to them Ever. If you do that; you might survive.”

“Do you think you will, sir? Survive, I mean.” I asked, and was surprised to hear him stifle a sobbing sigh.

“With luck I won't.” He strode from the room leaving me to think of what he said.

The next months brought no relief from my despair. We fought the battle of Hogwarts and lost. I was incarcerated in Azkaban prison for my part in the war and Snape did get his wish. Nagini, the vile familiar of the Dark Lord, killed him. Harry Potter had been a witness to Voldemort's act of brutality and came away with some of Snape's memories. You can read the accounts of them in the transcripts of his posthumous trial. Yes, Snape was given a trial because his body was never found. When Potter went back to retrieve it, it was gone. Funny thing that, his portrait has never moved either. All I can think is that he remains as obstinate in death as he was in life. 

It's all of no consequence to you though. I am trying to tell you of my life, not his.

I spent six years of my life in Azkaban prison. I deserved more, but the Wizengamot, in their infinite wisdom, granted me some leniency due to my age.

When I emerged from there, at the age of twenty three, I had undergone something of a transformation. I was no longer the pampered child of wealthy parents. I was a shell of a human being. I was nothing.

That's when I began trying to kill myself.

&*&*&

Harry stretched as he glanced at his wizard's watch. It read two a.m. He had to get to work early tomorrow. He uneasily laid the papers on his desk. Malfoy's story would have to wait until next evening.


	2. Chapter 2

Penance  
Chapter 2  
Harry woke with a muzzy-feeling headache; the kind he remembered well from his schooldays that he always got from lack of sleep. Ginny was already up and singing cheerfully off-key in the kitchen. Since she had given up her job, she seemed happier. She really was Molly Weasley's daughter.

He stretched experimentally, only to encounter a small body wedged against his arm. James smiled sleepily. “Daddy, Mummy tol’ me not to wake you.”

“She did, did she?” Harry tickled his son until he was whooping with laughter. “Did she tell you to climb in bed with me, Baby Bear?”

Ginny bellowed from the kitchen, “I told you to leave him alone, James Sirius Potter!”

Harry felt the headache ease. “It's alright, my delicate flower. I woke up before he bothered me.”

James scampered out of the room. “Mummy, Daddy's ‘wake. I din't do nuffin.”

It was so like his son to feel defensive. Harry hoped he had not inculcated that trait in him. Harry's own insecurities did seem to surface when he least expected them. He watched his son toddle away fondly, knowing he had more than he had ever expected. He felt rich.

Ginny came to the door of their room. “Sorry, Hermione had an early meeting and Ron needed to be at the shop to open up. George is missing in action again.”

Harry shrugged. “You know Jamie never bothers me.”

Ginny sat on the bed next to him. “Do you want to talk to me about Malfoy's letter?”

“Not yet,” he said, stroking her cheek. “It's just bringing up some old memories.”

“Do you mind if I go over it? It might help me to understand.” He could tell her innate curiosity was aroused by the innocent widening of her eyes.

He drew her hand to his lips. “You can if you want. What he's asked is for both of us to decide anyway.”

She said, “You can't seriously be considering whatever it is, can you?”

Harry wanted to deny it, but knew he could not lie to Ginevra Potter _nee_ Weasley. “Things have changed. I think he has too. Just read it and we'll discuss it after I've had a chance to finish.”

&*&*&

Scorpius, how can I relay to you the depths to which I sank after my release from prison, without further damaging your view of me?

I suppose, if Snape taught me anything it was, that as much as subterfuge serves a purpose, the truth will always come out. So, I will begin by telling you that I had lost my fortune. What my father hadn't squandered away on the lost cause of Tom Riddle, had to be given in reparations to the Muggles and Muggle-borns that I had a hand in terrorizing. No more Malfoy Manor, no more vacations in exotic places, no more expensive clothes and brooms, just like that, the Ministry confiscated everything. I was left with the clothes I could carry and an ivory miniature of my mother.

It was a difficult adjustment for me, and I did not handle it well. I couldn't find employment in the wizarding world. Who would hire a Death Eater? I drifted from one menial Muggle job to the next. My career varied only by how long I could keep a job before my Malfoy haughtiness reared its ugly head, and I was sent on without references. I was spiralling down and out.

It was during a period of extended unemployment that I discovered the dubious pleasures of the Muggle drug, heroin. I had been sleeping in an unused tunnel of the Underground when two, rough-looking men accosted me. They had beaten me when they heard my manner of speech. In one of those ironic twists of justice, the bully had become the victim. I don't really know how long I lay there, several days I think, when a soft voice and gentle hand lifted me up. The man's eyes that I looked into, though bleary and red-rimmed, were kind. I must have groaned something about pain, and before I could stop him, he had put a needle in my arm. The rush of sweetness was like nothing I've ever felt, and I knew I would have to experience more of this when the feeling wore off. The man stayed with me, and I suppose he gave himself a fix also. I passed out.

When I came to, he was smiling beatifically at me. “I know what it's like to hurt man. Maybe you can do the same for me sometime. When you have some to spare.”

With that statement, he was gone. I struggled to my feet, woozy from the beating and the drug. I slurred, “Hey, what's your name?”

“Cred,” He shouted from the distance, “You know as in credit, borrowed time, you know. If you need to find me, just ask for me by that name.”

And ask for him I did.

I began using every time I was off work, never before my shift. When the shakes became too bad I would shoot up during the evening and finally I was addicted. I couldn't go more than six hours without the sweet fire of the poison in my veins. I quit eating, bathing, going to work; all that mattered was my next high, my next foray into oblivion. At first, I paid for it with petty crime. Later, as my reflexes became atrophied and my magic weak, I paid for it with the use of my body by tired old men that didn't give a shit if I wasn't a poof as long as they could wank themselves off on something warm. I had never lain with a woman but that didn't matter to me, because I desired only my newest love, heroin. I didn't care that the drug was destroying me, because I felt I had nothing left to preserve. I discovered places I could crash, not the accommodations I had been accustomed to, but warm and relatively safe considering where I had fallen. I was dying and didn't care.

It was in early autumn of 2004 when I saw your mother again. She was a Muggle social worker and I had been arrested the night before for vagrancy. I was shaking from the alternating heat and cold that accosted my body when I was without the drug and I looked like shit. I had been assigned social workers before and I really wasn't paying much attention to the latest addition in my life. I had been berating her for not bringing me what I really needed.

I cursed her more foully than I had ever heard my uncle do, and was flaying her as well as Snape ever could have when I heard her say, “I know who you are.”

My eyes met hers finally and that connection of long ago stirred my memory. I snarled like the animal I was. I spat into her golden-brown face with the too-large eyes. “Leave me. You know what a monster I am.”

She stood beside her chair mute accusation in her posture. “You were the one that couldn't torture me.”

I screamed at her, throwing her satchel across the room, tearing at my hair. “Get out! I killed you! Get out! And don't haunt me anymore.”

She didn't move, and I pleaded with her, “Please. I didn't want to; you have to understand. I had to try. Please.”

I lost consciousness.

I awoke in a Muggle hospital bound to the bed, and with one of those IV things in my arm. She was still there, no accusations, no reprisals. I vomited. She cleaned the acid liquid with the deftness born of practice.

I cursed her roundly again, “Let me up you Muggle bitch. I'll tear the flesh from your bones.”

She sat down, calmly resuming her perusal of the wreck that was me while I fell into whimpering screams. When I finally exhausted my vocal repertoire, she said, “You don't have your stick anymore, you don't scare me.”

My wand was in her hand, and she twirled it between her fingers idly. “So, do you want to tell me who you are?”

I lunged against the cloth bindings until my wrists bled and my chest felt bruised. I coughed. The tubercular sound rattled my lungs, liquid and nauseating. All junkies have that cough, I had just been fortunate not to hear it when I wasn't flying the dragon. I was horrified.

She remained in the chair during this display, still twirling my wand, with the same dispassionate expression. “I have all day. Either you tell me your name, or I have the staff withhold your next dose of methadone. It's quite simple.”

“How Slytherin of you, my dear,” I spat the words out, and realized immediately how fucking stupid I was. She was a Muggle. She didn't know anything about my world, other than her one disastrous foray on the night I thought Snape killed her.

I began laughing and couldn't stop. I whooped when I couldn't breathe anymore and dissolved into another wet coughing fit. She still just stared, her topaz eyes calmly assessing me. Finally, I whispered, “My name is Draco Malfoy. And you are, Madam?”

“The person who had the misfortune of meeting you twice,” She intoned with a graceful, sweeping stand. “The ugly man that hurt me told me to forgive you if I ever saw you again. He said you were ‘caught in an untenable situation in a house of lunatics.’ His words exactly, not paraphrased. I remember everything about that night and I won't forgive you. I'm not that big a person. I hope you die in as much pain as my family did.”

She left then and I think I began to love her a little.

I spent the next week in agony as the maintenance dosage of the drug dropped. I saw her twice in that time. Her demeanour never changed, and I didn't want it to. I didn't deserve the minimal regard she gave me, and I certainly didn't deserve to have the feelings about her that her presence evoked. 

Your mother was lovely; a creamy skinned West Indian, with a golden-brown mane that would have put Granger to shame. One sight of her expressive almond-shaped eyes sent me into rapture.

I wanted the stoic hatred she directed at me. I craved to be slapped by her lovely hand. I needed her to pay me back for the evil I had wrought in her world.

I began to dream of her. I hadn't dreamt anything since leaving prison. Don't think that I was having fantasies of a sexual nature. In my dreams she was always an avenging dark fury and I was being cast into hell, flayed by her righteousness, tormented by my desire for her Stygian anger.

She didn't speak to me during that week and I was glad of it. Her withdrawal only fuelled my fantasies, and they were all I had at that moment. Finally, she entered my room one day and spoke, her rich voice arctic, “You're being released. I'll take you to the halfway house and set you up there.”

I felt the dread of the unknown weighing down my limbs. I couldn't make myself leave the bed and I began snivelling. The tears were of the lost little boy I had been when I was fourteen, and faced with my father's complicity in the death of Cedric Diggory, a pure-blood of some social standing.

I remembered mother's scream as he slapped her that night. I know I said he wasn't an utter bastard to us, but there are degrees of bastardliness. That night, he had reached his limit with my mother, and she kept pushing him, ranting about how it was all right for him to be involved with the death of a Mud-blood, half-blood or blood-traitor, but to kill a pure-blood was a crime. He continued to slap her until she shut the hell up. I cried like the whinging toad that I was trained to be.

However, again, I digress. I was to leave the hospital and go with this woman who hoped I would die painfully. I just hoped it would be soon.

She stood by my bed holding the filthy rags in which I had been arrested. Her expression softened. “We need to stop by a second-hand shop and get you some new clothes. I think these have seen better days.”

“Much,” I said thickly, between tears. “Leave me, so that I might change, please.”

She complied, the softened expression still on her face.

&*&*&

Harry came home to Ginny's tears and the cooker billowing smoke. She clutched the letter from Malfoy to her chest. “Oh, Harry, we have to do something. I can't stand the thought of that child in that situation.”

“I take it we're having carry-out tonight?” He smiled to ease the sting of his words. A pregnant Ginny under the influence of strong emotion, who just burned dinner, was not a woman with whom one trifled. “We'll discuss it after I finish, but yeah, it looks like we'll be the boy's godparents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Wednesday afternoon, and Harry sat in the meeting impatiently jiggling his foot. He had a ton of other things to be doing right now, and wished he could be doing them. The weight of Malfoy's document still dragged at his mind. He wanted to finish reading it so that he and Ginny could have a proper talk about it.

He had no time to read anymore the previous evening, because James had been cranky with an earache, and then had gotten into his mother's cosmetics. The little boy had painted one wall of their bedroom with bright-red Everlasting Beauty lipstick. Everlasting was right too. It had taken a Fire-call to the company to be able to charm the glop off the wall.

Harry noticed everyone in the meeting looking at him. Auror Fenway asked, her patience only veneer thin at the best of time. “Potter? I asked you if you have your report ready on the Fletcher matter.”

The situation felt like Potions all over. He fumbled through his stack of papers for the right report. His hand lingered on Malfoy's packet. “Erm... yeah, I have it here.”

He handed it forward. “I think you'll find that Mundungus Fletcher has been rather inactive in these last years. He's getting old.”

_Shit! Could he be any more eloquent?_

Fenway gave him a dubious frown. “That's good. I'll just read your report.”

Fenway's attention turned to the next order of business. The youngish Auror to his right looked at Malfoy's packet, which Harry had dutifully labelled with the Slytherin's name in a moment of Hermione-esque anal retentiveness.

The Auror whispered, “Are you investigating Malfoy? I heard he was dead.”

“No.” Harry shuffled the envelope to the back of his stack of paperwork. “I just ran into him, and he asked me to read something for him.”

“Don't tell me, another Death-Eater-Confesses-His-Crimes-Manuscript.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “You'd think they were rock stars rather than murderers, the way they're treated.”

Harry pointedly ignored her comment. Malfoy's portrait of himself was not to be viewed by others. His letter was addressed privately to his son, and Harry felt reluctant to discuss it with anyone outside the situation. The young woman continued making snide remarks, until Harry said in exasperation, “It's not like that. Can’t you just leave off?”

Auror Fenway paused in her presentation. “It's not like what Potter? International Wizarding Laws are not meant to be guidelines...Now where was I?”

Harry escaped the meeting with little dignity intact. Malfoy could still cause problems even when he was not present.

 

&*&*&

 

We made our way to the Underground from the Royal London Hospital and into one of my worst nightmares.

I had studiously avoided the use of the Underground during peak hours due to the claustrophobia that had plagued me since I had been called before The Dark Lord on the night of Dumbledore's murder. (I suppose I should say assisted suicide, since Snape only did as the old man asked.) On that night, my family was present and Snape was behind me. (No doubt this was set up in a mocking representation of a wedding ceremony. The Dark Lord did like his little jokes.) I had been given to Nagini for her pleasure. No, she was not a constrictor or any other type of snake I have ever seen before. I suspect that Hagrid wasn't the only one to breed magical creatures illegally.

Nagini was, I suppose, instructed not to kill me just make me regret my failure. She did. She began by coiling around my legs, her writhing flesh at once hot and cold. She slid between my legs and gave a crushing blow to my groin. I gasped with the pain of it and she took advantage of my momentary inhalation to constrict my diaphragm and then move further up. Black stars bloomed in my vision, and I was unable to fight for even a single breath. When the Dark Lord hissed his instructions again, she let me go.

The Dark Lord levitated me above the gathered Death Eaters and administered the Cruciatus Curse, just to make certain I knew I had failed him. I never forgot. I still dream of that moment, the fear and pain vying for ascendancy in equal measure.

My Avenging Angel stood a little ahead of me and to my right. She had taken hold of my sleeve so that I might not escape from her. Until I saw the crowded car, I did not intend to do so. When the car came to a halt I noted how few people got off, and I tore myself from her tenuous grasp. I ran in scrabbling panic, knocking into workmen and shop-girls, tearing through the crowd. My weakened lungs wailed in airless pain. I had no control over myself and I was ashamed.

I came to a door and burst into the moderately clean room. It was a ladies', but I didn't care as long as I didn't have to see all those doomed people in their sardine-tin existence. I fell. hunched against the cold wall, letting the sweat trickle to the base of my spine, heedless of the screams of outraged _femmes_ around me. I covered my head as I had done when Aunt Bella struck me the night I met my Avenging Angel for the first time.

I heard a commotion outside and was unable to move from my near foetal position. I was a gibbering gargoyle, a mad house-elf. I was a Death Eater.

Two male voices shouted at me, and I coiled further into myself. Carrow and Uncle Rodophus had returned from the dead. I struck out at the hands that attempted to restrain me. I could feel their crawling, grave-filth, and smell their putrescence. Then came the soft voice of my Angel; her hands were clean and well manicured, her voice, though with a slight alien accent, soft. She said a few words to the spectres and they disappeared to my great relief. She held me in her arms, rocking me, saying nonsense words to me and, Merlin help me, I clung to her.

After days, hours or minutes, I began to calm. She centred me with her voice and her soft touch. I said inadequately, “Thank you.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” She drew her long fingers through my now shoulder length hair. “We need to get out of here. Can you stand now?”

She told the two men, policemen, I realized, that I was suffering from Pea tea esdy, and I would do no further harm. The older one grunted, “If you're sure, Miss. We don't want to see you come to any 'arm.”

I heard her smile. “Draco, you won't harm me will you?”

Oh, I wanted to slap the smirk I knew was lingering on her face at that moment.

'Treat a Malfoy as an imbecile and watch what happens, Muggle.' said Lucius' voice in my head.

I tamped down my irritation with what little will I had left. Through achingly gritted teeth I growled, “No.”

“Then let's get up from here and leave.” She stood, and proffered her hand to me. I didn't slap it away but the desire was there. Lucius' ugly legacy still lived in me.  
I struggled to stand and did so as ungracefully as a newborn foal due to the weakened state of my limbs. I looked into her face and knew, from the slightly snarky smile that she had goaded me into my reaction. I loved her more than I hated her at that moment.

The two officers escorted us out of the loo. She said, “So, I guess the Underground is out. Do you feel like a hike?”

I was still the Draco-boy at the moment and snipped, “I suppose so, since my funds are tied up in various investments at the moment, and you are woefully lacking in anything worth hawking.” My eyes swept her from delicate stem to daunting stern.

“I've handled worse than you, Mr. Malfoy.” She held out her hand to me. “Take it. I don't want you to get lost.”

We walked what seemed like twenty miles to a jumbled looking shop that was in the neighbourhood she said I was to stay. I looked about dubiously. The area had a feeling of gritty decay. It was less than working class, and with the tags that punctuated the buildings, I suspected a good place to score. I rubbed my hands together nervously.

She entered the shop expecting me to follow, and I did.

An old West African woman sat behind a counter dotted with cheap rhinestone jewelry and flyspecks. She shouted, “Miss Tish! I'm so glad to see you. I see you brought another project.”

Or, I think that's what she said, her accent was very thick and glottal. I stood just inside the door, unable to move. I remembered the feel of Madam Malkin's deft fingers as she fitted me for tailored robes made of silk and the finest lamb's wool. In this synthetic wasteland, I was at a complete loss. How would I choose one horrible option over another equally hideous second?

My Angel gave me a sharp look. “Come on, I have to get you checked in by noon. We don't have all day to choose.”

I followed her dutifully into the nightmare of colours and unwashed clothing smells. She began sorting through the racks, which, to my surprise, were in order by size. She found several passable options, black jeans and trousers, a few white cotton shirts, and several black jumpers. Very Snape-ish.

I leaned in to ask her, “Why are you choosing all black and white?”

She jerked slightly at my proximity. “I thought that's what you all wore, those people you were with before.”

“No, just one of us, the one that you said hurt you.” She flushed. I grabbed her upper arm, digging my fingers into the fleshy bit. “You knew him.”

“Can we talk about it later? I really do need to get you checked into the facility.” She tried to twist away, but I held her. I was angry at her lack of denial.

We stood, staring at each other, until I noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. I let go of her with a shove. The woman behind the counter clicked her tongue.

“Watch out there, boy; Miss Tish is only trying to help you.” I gave the old woman a two-fingered salute and left the clatter of brass bells ringing in my wake.

I walked to the crossroad and paused. I knew no one in this area. I had never been to the East End in my life. I wavered. I heard My Angel approach her shoes clattering on the pavement unbecomingly. Mother always said a lady never makes a sound when she walks; she glides. Well, you can see where that got her.

“Mr. Malfoy, stop,” she called. I acted as if I were waiting for her, when actually my feet were rooted most definitely to the macadam. “He told me not to tell anyone. He said he would be in danger if I did. He set me and other girls up in safe houses. That's all there was to it. He saved my life that night, and yours too, I think.”  
I turned to her, my tone savage, “Say his name.”  
“I...He didn't...I never knew it.” I could tell she didn't know it. No, I'm not a master Legilimens, she just couldn't lie.  
The words tore from my throat, my mentor, my friend, my protector, “His name was Severus Snape.”  
She told me to wait there for her, and she went back to the shop to retrieve the items she had purchased. I felt like shit for making her almost cry. I was a Malfoy through and through. I walked with my hands in my ragged robes, they felt like two birds caught in a snare. I so wanted to smooth the skin I had defiled on her arm, but I felt my touch would only serve to soil her more.  
We walked in silence for a while, her clattering gait punctuated my smooth one. I said, wincing at the sullenness I could hear in my voice, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”  
“Like I said before, you're not the worst case I've handled.” She shrugged. “You get used to the mood swings after so many years.”

“You mean you've been abused before?” I was outraged, until I realized, yes, she had. “Fuck.”

&*&*&

Harry rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease the kink out of his neck. His lunch hour was over and he really did not want to get back to the office. The rumour mill was already churning about the Malfoy Manuscript as it was being called. One idiot had even inquired about Harry's scar. Damn Rita Skeeter and her spurious articles. Of all the details she had to include about his long fight against Voldemort, she had to mention the painful scar.

He packed the loose papers back in the envelope and left the lunchroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry sat in his study after work that night, supporting his head in his hands. Ginny had wisely put James to bed before she approached him. She slid her hand through his spiky hair lovingly. “Harry, what's wrong?”

“I'm a bad person.” His hands dropped to his lap, his fists clenched and unclenched. It had been his habit since the war. “As I read this letter and I can't help but feel he deserved what he went through, even though I know it was horrible.”

Ginny perched on the arm of the chair and drew him to her. “Harry, the war wasn't that long ago. I think a lot of people who actually fought would feel the same.”

“But I'm an Auror. I'm pledged to uphold the law. He served his time in Azkaban, and yet, I'm still happy because life hasn't treated him well.”

Ginny kissed his forehead. “I think maybe he's gone through all this for a reason.”

She left him to his thoughts, closing the study door as she departed.

&*&*&

I settled in to my life at the shelter. It was run by a priest, and nominally funded by the Catholic church. Many of its occupants including myself, had spent time in prison and were cut adrift from families and friends. I should have felt right at home but as this wasn't really my world, I didn't. The inmates had to attend daily Mass, and we were given tasks to complete to earn points for privileges and money. I found out early on that Father Ian Cavanaugh was the half-brother of My Angel. He was shockingly bald, with a complexion that said he had been redheaded at one time, and he appeared some ten years older than she was. I saw them together outside the weekly mass that she attended at the church attached to the shelter. I could tell that despite their half-sibling status, they were close. I envied his ease with her.

I passed my second week with the maintenance drug and realized that I was still physically addicted to the Muggle poison. I had almost overwhelming urges to go out and find some heroin, but I resisted for no stronger reason that I didn't want to disappoint My Angel.

There were no Disapparation points around the church, and I was not allowed to leave the property, so I decided to use some of my Death Eater tactics to make a trip to St. Mungo's. I planned it carefully. I prepared the necessary items to make a doppelganger, I secured a private room by faking loud nightmares, and I watched for my opportunity. It came one night when Father Cavanaugh was called away from the church and another trusted inmate was left on duty.

My magic was still low, so I made the doppelganger with the minimum of personality, and instructed it to only feign sleep or answer simply to questions. My Disapparation would require more energy and so I decided to complete it in two jumps. The first one took me to the Underground station near The Royal London Hospital, the next was to the Apparation point outside St. Mungo's

It was nearing midnight, so I made my way to the Emergency entrance and sat with the inhabitants until my name was called some two hours later.

My Healer was none other than Parvati Patil. When she saw me, she looked as if she were seeing a ghost, a particularly noxious one like the Bloody Baron. She composed herself in the blink of an eye, and asked in a professionally distant tone, “Mr. Malfoy, how may I help you today?”

I explained my situation, leaving out the fact that I was staying in Muggle London, but I guess she perceived that, given that heroin was a Muggle problem. Addiction to it is rare in the wizarding world. At length she said, “I can help you with the physical addiction. We've recently treated several cases of such poisoning and found a combination of potions which are quite effective in its reversal...”

“However?” I asked. I had no time to waste. I had to return to the shelter before I was missed.

She blinked at my perception. I suppose I wasn't known for my sensibility when I was younger. “However, if you use the drug again, we cannot re-administer the treatment. It is effective only once. After the initial use, the potions become unstable in the patient's body.”

I nodded. “May I start the treatment now?”

She tapped her quill against the chart she carried. “I have to also caution you that though the potions may cure the physical manifestations, the cause of your addiction will remain unchanged. You will have to guard against the mental factors that brought you to use the poison in the first place. Are you able to do that?”

I thought of My Angel and nodded. I couldn't speak, for fear of showing the longing I felt when I thought of her.  
Patil said, “Very well. I will administer three potions then you may leave.”

Patil left and came back with three rather large flasks. “Drink each one in the order I give them to you. Do not vomit them back up and do not sleep for the next eighteen hours. If you feel dizziness, loss of vision or see black spots on your palms, return immediately. Do you understand?”

I nodded somewhat shaken. “Just give them to me.”

She handed me the first and I downed it in one long pull. I could now understand why she said not to vomit. It tasted of goat urine and smelled like death. I mastered my reaction and reached for the next. It was even worse. Snape would have been happy to administer this potion to a recalcitrant student. I heaved but swallowed the gorge that rose. Patil checked my eyes. “Very good. The next one is a magic restorative. I do caution you against using too much magic for the next three days. The side effects can be quite daunting. You may Disapparate to your home, but no more.”

She handed me the third, a golden, oily liquid. I sniffed it. It smelled of honey and lilacs. I tilted it to my lips and felt the restorative properties immediately. “Not so bad, Patil.”

Then I was hit with the worst cramps I have ever had in my life, worse than a well administered Crucio. I doubled over as the pain began leeching my strength. Patil patted my shoulder remotely. “The cramps will pass soon. When they do a mediwitch will release you.”

I began wishing for the days of the Cruciatus Curse. Aunt Bella would have been so pleased to give this potion to someone if it didn't have the nasty side-effect of restoring magic.  
I rolled around on the gurney attempting to escape the agony I was in but no position relieved it. I thought I would go mad before it would end, but finally I noted a lessening of the symptoms. I stood and walked to the curtains that separated me from the rest of the ward, still shaking, but able to move.

A mediwitch saw me and hastened over with a distracted scowl. “You're ready to leave?”

She checked my pulse and looked at my palms for telltale signs of black spots. “Very well. You are released.”

She turned her back on me and I hobbled out of the hospital. I knew I couldn't Disapparate more than once since my energy was so low from fighting the pain. I made my way to the Underground and jumped the turnstile. I didn't have money with me because I had planned on magical means of transportation. Once on the car, I rested against the window, my breath coming in short gasps. Several very drunken men passed me, and looking at my pallor, no doubt concluded that I might be contagious. They left me alone thankfully and when I reached my stop, I was able to stand with little difficulty. I reached the Apparation point and Disapparated to my room in the shelter.  
Father Cavanaugh was waiting for me.

He registered no shock at my sudden appearance, and I was stunned. He was a Muggle. I could sense no magic emanating from him yet my Apparation hadn’t surprised him.  
He patted the chair next to the bed. “Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy. I think we need to talk.”

I approached him warily. “I suppose we do, sir.”

He drew out a pack of cigarettes. “You don't mind do you? I gave up drinking about ten years ago, and I just needed something to do with my hands.”

I bloody well did mind the nasty things but felt I was on no position to say so. I stood and opened the small window that seemed to be standard in institutional settings. I waited as he completed his ritual of lighting the stick then drawing the noxious smoke into his lungs. I'd be damned if I was going to break the silence first. He cocked his head at me eyebrow raised. “I've been aware of what you are since my sister left you here. You have no identification, no way to trace you. And the school that you provided as your alma mater has been on the Church's radar for the last millennium.”

I tensed, ready to bolt. I knew how to make flames tickle and not consume my flesh but I knew my magic wasn't up to the task tonight.

The priest continued flicking ashes into his calloused palm. “Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy, we don't burn witches anymore. The Church has learned to co-exist with your kind for at least the last four hundred years. Your secret is safe.

“No, my question is, where you were tonight?” He fixed me with a gelid glare. “I assume, from your condition, that you were unable to get the drugs you sought?”

The truth was hard for me to say. I had been too weak to suffer as a Muggle would. I thought the Priest would feel that I cheated. I said, “No sir. I didn't try to get the Mug- ...poison... _drugs_. I went to one of our hospitals to be treated.”

He shook his head with a hint of sadness. “I wish you would have confided in me, Mr. Malfoy. We've had several of your type in here since your civil war, and they've all tried that method and failed. I hope you fare better. My sister seems quite ta... Anyway, if you need to talk, my office is open.

"You do seem to be different from the others, however. There may be some hope.” He stood his shoulders slumped with fatigue. “Since you won't be able to sleep, I'd like you to work in the kitchens today. It is your punishment for leaving the grounds. Good day, Mr. Malfoy.”

I stood looking at the sleeping doppelganger. I would have to dispel it, but didn't want to. It was peaceful. It had no worries. It had never been a Death Eater.  
I heard a knock on my door and opened it slightly. Father Cavanaugh smiled. “One other thing, Mr. Malfoy. Get rid of that abomination in your bed. It gave me quite a start.”  
I released the magic that held the creature together and was immediately struck by cramps. Fortunately, they weren't as bad as the ones I experienced in hospital. Once they passed, I made my way to the kitchen for my duties.

Your mother came to see me that week. She sat in the small study of her brother's and took tea with me. I enjoyed the normalcy of the routine of tea. I remember hearing her laugh for the first time at some droll statement of Father Cavnaugh's. I remember watching her adjust the mass of hair that she kept tied at the nape of her neck, longing to feel the softness for myself. God, in the afternoon sunlight she was lovely. I wanted to draw the same throaty laugh out of her again, but instead I sat transfixed and tongue-tied as a first-year in her presence. She talked with her brother when he passed through to his office, and I watched her full lips caress the words. I was in a painful state of arousal when she handed me my teacup and poured my tea with her steady, slender hands.

She finally said, in frustration no doubt, “Are you just going to stare at me all day or are you going to tell me how you're doing?”

I spilled the hot tea on my leg and yelped. I heard Father Cavanaugh chuckle from the other room. She blotted at my leg, hissing when I jerked away from her. “I'm sorry. I...”

I stood to escape her touch. She sat back on her heels. “I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Do you think we could start over?”

I looked at my pants. I wasn't worried about them. They were black and the tea wouldn't stain them. “No need.”

She said after a few moments of hurt silence, “I really don't hate you, you know. I just said that before because I was angry.”

“Oh.” I laughed at myself. “I thought you were speaking of the wasted tea.”

She raised her face to me. Tears glistened in her lashes but an inchoate humour gleamed in her eyes. “Were you always this dense? I mean how did you make it through a war without getting killed?”

I guffawed at that. No, it wasn't funny but it was damn close to the truth. If it hadn't been for Harry Potter and Severus Snape I would have died. I stuck out my hand. “Draco Malfoy, dunderhead extraordinaire.”

She smiled, a breath-taking sight. “Letitia Cavanaugh, dunce and busy-body. Nice to meet you.”

We began talking, and the deal was sealed as if it were a handshake over horses; I had to make her mine.

&*&*&

Harry had fallen asleep with the letter in his hand. He woke with a crick in his neck and a bad taste in his mouth. He stretched. This Malfoy matter was becoming too much for him and he didn't want to finish the letter. It wasn't going to affect the outcome of their decision, but there was something compelling about the narrative. He couldn't seem to put it down. He would read just a little more and then go join Ginny. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take time to let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Penance

Chapter 5

.

...Harry would read a little more and join Ginny.

&*&*&

Things went well for the next week. I had fewer moments of cravings than I expected. I attended daily, and I was beginning to understand the message that Father Cavanaugh was imparting. If I was going to be able to be forgiven by others, I must forgive myself first. 

A simple premise on the face of it, but much harder for me to implement. I spoke with Father when I finally understood what he was trying to say. I confessed everything to him. My vanity, my prejudice, my venality, all was exposed for his measuring gaze. I explained that my time as a nominal Death Eater was what had driven me to the easy oblivion of Muggle poison. My time on heroin had caused me to sell my body and deplete my magic. I'm not sure the man fully understood, but after our talk, he did seem to comprehend my need for punishment. He remarked on it and mentioned the entirely Catholic concept of penance. I laughed, telling him I was familiar with the concept. Then I told him of Hogwarts and my beloved friend and godfather, Severus Snape, his meaningless death, his great service to the Light, and the horrible punishments he meted out for misbehaviour in his class. I hadn't been looking at him when I said the spy's name. I should have. 

“Snape, you say?” The priest's voice contained an odd note of sadness. I looked at him then, afraid of what truth I might see. “Severus Snape?”

Cavanaugh's eyes filled with tears and I watched in some horror as he cried almost inconsolably. I finally interjected, “Sir?”

“He was my father's cousin or some such relation.” Cavanaugh said drying his face on a large white cotton handkerchief produced from his cassock. “I used to admire him a great deal when I was younger. You say he died in service to this Phoenix Order?”

I had never thought of that solitary man as having a family and it hurt me to realize that, as much as I had cared for him, I never really knew him. “Yes sir. He was also the one responsible for saving Miss Cavanaugh's life.”

“I wasn't aware.” He folded and refolded the cloth in his hand. “Tish never gave me the name of the man who aided her. I doubt he would have even recognized her as family. We lost touch with him after his father died.”

Cavanaugh looked out the dirty window onto the dismal street beyond it. “He was quite tortured, you know. It had something to do with a girl and her death. I don't think he ever forgave himself.”

I looked away from his pain, shamed. “No, he didn't. I hope your god forgave him. He did deserve more than this life ever offered him.”

I thought of the night on the Astronomy Tower, and the pain and rage that had marred his homely face as he killed Dumbledore, another death on his conscience and it was due to my cowardice. I was the cause of his ultimate sin. I stood, more painfully aware of my own sins than I had ever been before. “I'll leave you now, sir. I am sorry for your loss.”

“I'm sorry for your loss also. You do seem to have cared for him. I'm glad someone did.” Cavanaugh's gaze sharpened. “One moment, Draco. I haven't given you the task for your penance.”

“I was hoping you would forget, sir.” I felt a polite smile grace my lips, but knew it didn't reach my eyes.

“That would make me an entirely remiss priest, wouldn't you say?” His expression was a wan imitation of his normal jocundity. “No, you will be assigned to help in the soup kitchen for the week. You will be serving those that are less fortunate than you with humility and grace, I hope.”

I gave my best Malfoy bow. “As you request, sir.”

The older man chuckled. “Now get on with you. My sister needs to speak with you over tea. You will have your daily duties fulfilled by that time, I assume?”

“Yes sir.” I left and began my assigned job.

A half hour before teatime I packed my gardening tools. It was early fall, but bushes and the like still had to be trimmed. I found I enjoyed my time outside working in the small garden. I washed and proceeded to Father Cavanaugh's study. My Angel was waiting for me. I paused in the doorway, my heart hammering painfully in my suddenly too small chest. She saw me and I could have sworn the smile she gave me rivalled the sun's brilliance. My breath caught and I wanted to rush to her and snog her senseless. I controlled my urges. “Miss Cavanaugh.”

“Such formality. I think we've been through quite enough that you can call me Tish.” She stood, reaching for the tray that contained the battered teapot and cups of the parish office. “Draco, I have some bad news.”

I sat awaiting the communication with little trepidation. Nothing could be worse than what I had experienced before. She continued as she poured the tea, and placed sugar and milk in hers, and lemon in mine. “The claim I submitted for your subsistence payment has been denied. It has mainly to do with your lack of paperwork.”

“Oh.” My monosyllabic answer was eloquent as always. “Is that the bad news?”

She shook her head. “I've also asked to be pulled off your case. You'll receive a new worker by the end of the week.”

“I see.” I said, but I obviously didn't by the pained expression that crossed her face. “There's more?”

“Your time here is coming to an end. There is only limited bed space and Ian says you've completely removed the heroin from your system. I won't ask how. So...” I had never seen a person wring their hands in distress before, but she sat in front of me doing just that.

I said with a complete equanimity I didn't feel, “So, how long do I have before I have to clear out?” 

From the office, we heard Father Cavanaugh's throat clear. Tish looked up, hope dawning. “Yes, Ian?”

He made his way into the room, “Mr. Malfoy will have until the end of the week. I'm sorry it's in our charter. However, depending on your ability at the soup kitchen, I will offer you the post of manager. It won't pay much, but you will be able at least to share a flat with someone. That's something you can arrange Tish? ”

I felt like weeping. These Muggles showed such kindness to me, a former Death Eater and Muggle-baiter. “I don't deserve this, sir.”

He fixed me with the same glare he had given me when I had gone to St. Mungo's on my own. “Whether you do or not, I’m offering. Now, Tish, can you help him look for a flat this week?”

Tish hugged him. “You are the best brother.”

I hung back, abashed. I mumbled my thanks and fled.

I attended Vespers that evening. I had much to think about, and the services had become somewhat calming to me. I had not been raised a believer in anything other than my own superiority, and I found my time in the shelter's sanctuary, at first alien and foreboding with its Blood-god and sad-eyed saints, had transformed me. I began to think of the suffering I had caused and witnessed as something I truly had to atone for, not with the loss of my freedom or my fortune, but with true service. Father Cavanaugh and Tish had influenced me, but I had already begun this path when I was released from Azkaban.

Some time before, I began to read the myths that these Muggles believed on faith, and I could see the value in them. Their Blood-god became heroic in his sacrifice, their morose saints, and martyrs. I don't know if I believe in these beings to this day, but I can see why their simple faith in the blood-god persisted after two millennia. I began to think of Potter, and saw the same sacrifice in his actions. Of course, I knew he was still only human, with the same prejudices and fears as the rest of us, but he had gone to his death willingly to save a world that had offered him little, Muggles and wizards alike.

I couldn't imagine what he must have felt. I know I couldn't have done what he did. Then there was Snape, who didn't reveal who truly owned the Ash wand to the Dark Lord, even if it would have saved his own life. That man, who had been so hated by all, had given his whole life to atone for one mistake. I felt the tears fall down my cheeks unchecked. If there was a god here, it witnessed my abasement. I could offer nothing more at the moment. I think at some point I did begin what might be termed prayer by Muggles. I don't really know. Nevertheless, when the service ended, I felt lighter, less soiled by the crimes I had committed to save my own worthless life.

Father Cavanaugh passed by me choosing, I think, to ignore my tears. I was grateful. Tomorrow I would start my new life. Tonight, however, I hoped I would sleep dreamlessly for once.

I began my job at the soup kitchen the next morning. I was dismal at it, and as the day wore on, and my nervousness grew, I became worse. The other workers were kind, but I could tell I had made their job harder and they were glad to see the back of me. By the end of the day, I was feeling like Longbottom on a better day in Potions. I made my way to the community shower, horrible Muggle invention that, and scrubbed the food smell from my body. That task accomplished, I waited outside the church for My Angel to arrive, feeling quite low. She gave me an odd look as she approached. “Your first day didn't go well?”

“I believe utter failure would be the correct phrase.” I slid my hands in the pockets of my trousers. “I probably won't get the position. I don't want to waste your time.”

She looped her arm through mine. It felt right. “Don't be ridiculous. It was your first day. I remember my first day as an aid worker. It was disastrous.” 

“What happened?” I asked, truly interested. I'm sure she hadn't dropped a whole tray of sandwiches on the floor. I'm sure she hadn't had to turn away hungry people because of it. 

“I was assigned to help a mental patient who had a foot fetish. I wore sandals that day.” She blushed. “You can imagine what a nightmare that was. He… became rather excited to say the very least. I didn't live that humiliation down for at least a year.” 

I laughed despite my horrible mood. “Foot fetish? No, we didn't have anyone with that particular reaction to me today.” 

Tish joined me. “Don't use that story against me. I'll never forgive you.” 

The words struck me like a blow. I stiffened. “I believe you've said that to me before.” 

She dragged at my arm as she stopped. “Draco, I'm sorry. I said that without thinking. I have forgiven you. I do understand why you...” 

“Just leave off. Okay?” I jerked away. “I don't forgive myself. I could have chosen not to try to torture you or the others. I could have been brave and met my death proudly, but I wasn't. I don't deserve your forgiveness. And I don't believe you anyway. You can't even stand to be my aid worker.” 

Then she did something completely unexpected. She kissed me. I let the contact spin out, a soft melding of lips and tongue. My breath was ragged when she stepped away. “That's why I can't work with you any longer. I've become too personally involved with you.” 

Gobsmacked was not the word to describe my utter confusion at her actions. The Draco Malfoy before the war would have swept her into his arms used her any way he could, and laughed at the dirty Muggle afterwards. The Draco Malfoy standing before her now felt humbled. I brushed her cheek with my knuckles. Before I could stop the words from escaping, I said, “I love you.” 

Harry awoke in the chair, well past dawn. His shoulders hurt and he felt achy everywhere else. He might Fire-call into work today and use some of that holiday pay he had not taken the last two years. He mentally reviewed the meetings scheduled for the day and thought he might be able to miss those with no comment. His field assignments were well underway, and his partner could cover those. He Fire-called his supervisor and skived off. 

He did not want to admit it, but reading Malfoy's letter was consuming him. 

&*&*&

The end of my first week at the soup kitchen wasn't as dismal as the beginning, and I was hired. I found I enjoyed working with the people that came there. I could use my Malfoy charm and defuse tense situations. I could use my Death Eater menace to dispel fights. I didn't use magic much anymore, being around Muggles and all, but I did practice at night just to keep my hand in. I was Draco Malfoy with a reason for being. 

I spent my nights either combing the area for flats in my price range, or combing the advertisements for people who needed for flatmates. I was having no luck, even with Tish's help. I was getting desperate. I really didn't want to spend another night on the streets with it getting cold outside. On Friday, Tish finally offered the use of her couch until I could find housing through her agency, or until I could find my own place. I gratefully accepted. Her flatmate was less than thrilled, but I had been brought up well, and I knew I could be an ideal guest. I proved my abilities when I Spelled breakfast for them on the following day. Tish was amazed. “I didn't know you could cook.” 

I smirked, and then whispered, “I can't. But I can do magic.” 

Her eyes went round in awe. “I could stand to have one of you around for a while.” 

I felt myself flush and I squeezed her hand under the table. (We had not repeated our other activities. I told her I wanted to court her in true wizard's fashion, and so I would bring her a gift a day that I conjured or bought. I would not allow myself physical contact until I was able to commit to her more fully.) 

As well as my first week went, my second brought near disaster. 

I was serving sandwiches on the line, something I rarely did because I was usually occupied gathering supplies from the local restaurants and food pantries. On Friday, though, one of the volunteers had become ill. I sent them home, but it left us short one staff member. I had just given my last sandwich to an elderly man and was getting ready to return to my small office in the back of the kitchen when I saw gentle, red-rimmed eyes. It was Cred, the Muggle that introduced me to heroin. I felt the longing for the poison immediately; it licked in my veins like a soft fire. I shuddered. Cred smiled through his permanent haze and said, “I know you, man. You're the bloke from the Underground.” 

I nodded, unable to move away from the siren-call singing in my blood. He looked around. “Do you know where I can score some, man? I'm starting to hurt.” 

I shook my head dumbly. I couldn't respond without giving my longing away. He stared at me a few more moments head cocked like some Egyptian avian-god. “You're clean now aren't you?” 

I nodded and the spell was broken. “Yes, it’s only been a few months.” 

Cred rubbed his hand through his unwashed hair. “I'll leave you alone then. I wouldn't want to fuck things up for you. Don't want to make you live on borrowed time too.” 

He sauntered off and only waved when I called after him. I turned and noted the surreptitious looks cast by my co-workers. As I made my way back to my office, one of the elderly gentlemen who volunteered three times a week said, “Good job, Mr. Malfoy.” 

I stood taller, and thanked him with a nod. 

I told your mother about the incident that evening. She hugged me and I kissed her hungrily. You were made that night. 

&*&*&

James sat on the floor at Harry's feet playing with a set of cars that Arthur Weasley had given him for his birthday. He was making them fly. Harry watched his son for a moment then joined him on the rug, his own chugging noises melding with his son's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

Penance

Chapter 6

Ginny looked in on him. “Harry, dinner's ready. Will you eat with us tonight?” 

She looked worried, and Harry felt a little guilty about it. He pulled her onto his lap. “I love you, Ginny.” 

She leaned against him, her hand resting on her belly. They sat for a moment, drawing comfort in each other's embrace. “You're worried about him, aren't you?” 

“It's just that Malfoy's always been... Malfoy.” Harry rubbed his hand along hers. “He's always been someone I could easily dismiss, and now I find out he has this whole internal world that I've never imagined. I feel as if I've not been fair to him, just like I wasn't fair with Snape.” 

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes expressively. “You really are such a Gryffindor. Worse than anyone in my family.” 

Harry playfully pushed her off his lap. “Woman, I need my dinner. Let me up!” 

&*&*&

I found a flat in my price range, complete with jumble-sale furnishings the week after I began dating your mother. I still courted her, bringing daily gifts and lavishing the attention she deserved. If anyone had told me before that I would fall in love with a Muggle, I would have scoffed at them. Now, I couldn't imagine my life without her. 

She was shocked at my nearly complete ignorance of the Muggle world. She took me to see my first film. We saw a fiction called Ella Enchanted. I laughed all the way through it, although I suspect for different reasons than everyone else. Really, attractive giants and inept fairies? Ridiculous. 

She also took me to see an amateur production of The Taming of the Shrew. I enjoyed the farce as much as when we read it in Muggle Studies, and it had the added benefit that I called her Kate for the week. She hated that. She also introduced me to rock music. I loved Led Zeppelin and Tool, and hated Marilyn Manson (if he weren't a Muggle, I would have sworn he was a Death Eater. His looks did remind me of Severus.) 

We also watched the TV. I didn't enjoy that too much, because the forced laughter of the audiences grated on my nerves, especially in those programmes made by the Yanks. Football was interesting but would never be as exciting as Quidditch. I could at least pass time watching that without excessive irritation. I found myself wanting to immerse myself in her world. I never knew Muggles were so creative. I could almost understand the Weasley patriarch's legendary obsession with everything Muggle. 

We spent time discussing the world from which I came. I was a little more reticent about sharing it with her. All those years of imposed secrecy by the Ministry, and my own actions while I was in it, caused me to feel odd about mentioning certain facts to her. She tried to understand. 

Surprisingly, she was quite willing to discuss the atrocities committed by Muggles against the Wizarding world in the past. She said they had covered it extensively in school, but the idea of believing in witchcraft had fallen out of favor due to something she called The Age of Reason (which coincided roughly with the adoption of the Statute of Secrecy in our world.) After some research, I was able to ascertain that the term meant science the Muggle equivalent of magic. I read the books she gave me about Muggle history and technology, and I conversely obtained, as one of my gifts to her, a dog-eared copy of Hogwarts; a History. She read it with as much intensity as I had seen Granger devour the book. My Tish would have made a fine Mudblood. 

I found her to have a droll sense of humour that would find expression in some of the oddest moments, usually when I was trying to be overly serious. She punctured my ego when it got out of hand. At times, I appreciated it. I had a tendency to become too much like Snape, too tetchy and self-important. I don't know if it was the time I spent with him, or the similarities in our own psychological make-up that caused it, but my vanity provided too much of a target for Tish's humour to resist. I also found my Angel had a temper. It was at its worst when she watched the evening news (she hated the PM's involvement with that cowboy, Bush) or when we were stuck in traffic. She cursed quite a bit on the road. At that time, she hadn't directed her ire at me, but I was looking forward to a good row with her. She was exhilarating when her anger was roused. I loved that best about her. 

I purchased a second-hand broom, an ancient Comet 260, when I received my first aid-cheque and I took her out one afternoon on it, using a disillusionment charm to hide us from prying eyes. She was quite fearful at first, but I snugged her against me and distracted her a bit. It became a quite pleasant if frustrating experience for both of us. We arrived at our destination at twilight, and I took her to the gates of Hogwarts to let her see for herself what she had read about. I was quite disappointed at her initial reaction. 

“You went to school here?” She sounded doubtful. 

I reacted with some irritation. “Yes. It's much better than the modern hovel you went, I'm sure.” 

“Draco, maybe I'm not seeing what you are, but my education wasn't conducted in the ruins of some old cotter's hut.” She looked dubiously at the fields surrounding the venerable old building. I grimaced; of course, the anti-Muggle spells were in place. 

“Close your eyes,” I commanded. She glared at me. “Please, I need to do something so you can see what’s really there.” 

She closed her eyes and turned her face to me. I took the opportunity to brush my lips to hers. She frowned, and I felt a bubble of laughter escape me. She opened her eyes, irritated. “Is that what you had to do?” 

“No, you just looked so adorable, I had to.” I kissed her again and she shivered, whether from the chilly evening or my prowess, I don't know. 

“Draco,” she protested, her eyes now firmly closed. 

I held my wand to her face and tapped each lid. I repeated a complex series of charms and then said, “Revelo.” 

I kissed her again. “Now, open your eyes.” 

“It looks like a fairy tale.” Her gasp of awe was quite satisfying. “You went there? Can we tour it?” 

“Ah, no. It was warded against Death Eater incursions after the war. I can't go through the gate.” I felt sorry that my ancient actions were causing her loss once again. 

“How would the alarm system know?” She asked. Her use of the Muggle term made me smile. 

“You've seen the Dark Mark on my arm. That's how.” I pushed up my sleeve, revealing the lightened skull and snake. I turned my face away from her, not wanting to show her how my skin crawled whenever anyone looked on it. She moved to touch it, but I jerked back from her. “I was just sixteen when I took it.” 

“Why did you, Draco?” She moved away from me and sat on one of the large boulders that lay by the pathway. 

I knew the question would come one day and here it was. I had been dreading it, but now that she had asked, I felt strangely relieved. I pulled her up. “Let's go someplace away from here, and I'll tell you.” 

She balked at getting back on the broom. “Can't we just go to that village we passed over?” 

I shook my head. “No that wouldn't be such a good idea.” 

“Come on, I'm cold, and I've never heard of a business refusing service if you've got the pounds to spend.” She looked dutifully pitiful. She stood and began marching down the familiar path from Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade. I cast a shrinking spell on our broom and followed cursing with every step. When I caught up with her, she was heading for The Three Broomsticks. 

“No, not in there. I'm definitely _persona non grata_ in that establishment.” Tish looked at me strangely and I grabbed her hand, leading her to the seedier Hog's Head tavern, run by Aberforth Dumbledore. I stopped her and transfigured our Muggle coats into hooded cloaks. 

“I'll never get used to you doing that,” she mumbled, fingering the soft folds of fabric that now swathed her slender body. “You should warn me.” 

I drew my hood over my head, and again she gave me the odd look. I opened the door to the establishment and our noses were assaulted by the effluvia that passed for ambiance. 

She coughed slightly and grimaced. “This is where you wanted to take me?” 

“No, if you remember, I wanted to go to some other place entirely.” I grabbed her elbow as a very drunk patron jostled her. “Can we leave now?” 

My stubborn Angel set her jaw and wended her way back to a small booth in the corner. “No, we'll stay.” 

“Fine,” I spat and made my way back to the bar, noting that cleaning charms hadn't been applied that day on, say, anything. A goat baa'ed from under the counter. I frowned and chose the least likely beverage to poison us. “Two firewhiskys please.” 

I looked back into the corner and watched my little Muggle's eyes widen as Hagrid made his way past her table. It was almost worth the risk of being discovered to see that. I smirked; the great oaf had finally done me some good. She shrank back into her seat, and I stifled a laugh. 

“Oi, yer firewhiskys.” I looked back at the barman and was staring, for a moment into Albus Dumbledore's eyes. I froze, and then began to notice the veins along the apple cheeks and the different cant to the nose. “Six Knuts each.” 

“Six Knuts! That's outrageous,” I groused as he held out his hand without comment. 

I reached into my coin purse glad that I always carried Wizarding currency with me. I placed the coins on the counter and moved to take my drinks when Dumbledore halted me with a meaty paw on my arm. “For your sake and hers, this better be your last drink here, Malfoy.” 

Mentally cursing him I shook him off. “It will be.” 

I made my way back to the booth and sat next to My Angel. “I hope you're happy. Can we leave now?” 

“No, I've never been in your world. Let me enjoy myself.” She took sip of her firewhisky and almost spat it. “Good god, what is this, paint thinner?” 

I downed it, masterfully covering the gag I felt at the burn from the un-aged liquor. I noted several hooded figures approaching our table. “Really, Tish, I think we should just leave.” 

One of the brutes, a mannish-looking woman in her mid-forties, grabbed me by my cloak knocking my cowl back. “Yer type's not welcome here, Malfoy.” 

Tish shouted in outrage and was cornered by an equally ugly male of the same approximate age. My wand was ready, and I hexed his hand as it began to rove over her body. He howled in outraged pain as his skin erupted in painful boils. The woman placed her wand against my eye. “Whot's the matter Malfoy, can't get a proper witch these days? You got to shag Squibs?” 

“That's enough, you foul bitch.” Tish grabbed the woman's arm a purely Muggle gesture. “Draco, what's a Squib?” 

The room fell silent; no chairs scraped back, no drinking noises were heard, nothing, just silence. The woman shook off Tish's hand and returned her wand's focus to me, only lower this time. She stage-whispered, “He's _Imperiused a Muggle. I'll have yer balls fer that one.”_

“Oh, fuck me.” I heard Dumbledore say from the bar. I steeled myself for the hex and prayed to the Blood-god of Tish's that she would get out of the situation with a simple Obliviate. I closed my eyes and waited. A soft, familiar voice answered my prayers. Hagrid. 

“Ah, leave off, Tilda. E's served 'is time.” I felt the blow of the Halfling’s great hand against my shoulder and dared to breathe again. I peeked from beneath my lashes and noted that Tish's fear of the giant had been replaced by awe. “Come on, young Malfoy. Le' me escort you and yer lady friend outside.” 

I stood on watery legs, badly wanting a little of my old bravado to resurface. Tish, looking pale and drawn, took my hand and we followed. Dumbledore nodded to Hagrid as we exited. 

Once outside I held Tish's trembling form against me. Hagrid gave me a measuring look and said, “Come ter my hut. Yer lady friend needs some rest before you get on yer way.” 

I balked knowing I wouldn't be allowed. “I can't enter the grounds. I took the Mark.” 

The half-blood laughed the low rumble I recognized from when he was interacting with Potter when I was a child. “Don't believe everythin' you hear, Malfoy. I thought Slytherins was smarter than that.” 

We followed, and I was surprised to find that I could enter the gates of Hogwarts with no alarum being raised. Hagrid's presence had a calming effect on me, and as we entered the grounds, I felt like I was home for the first time since my nightmare life had begun all those years earlier. I kept my eyes from scanning the castle for the Astronomy Tower with some effort. But as I saw the Forbidden Forest loom before us, my heart lurched. Snape had taken me past Hagrid's hut my last night at Hogwarts; the night he killed Dumbledore. I almost expected to see his swirling robes fanning out behind his thin frame. Merlin, I missed him. 

Hagrid peered down at me, and patted my back. “I miss Perfessor Snape too. 'E was a good man oncet you got down to it.” 

Tish was regaining some of her equilibrium and asked, “Snape. Severus? Wasn't that the one that saved our lives? Ian said we're related somehow.” 

The moment was too raw for me to answer her, and so Hagrid (who would have thought he was so sensitive?) began regaling her with stories of the Potions Master and my student days. I hadn't realized how many lives Snape had touched. As we entered the hovel that was the giant's hut, I was laughing along with Tish. Hagrid busied himself with making tea, and I drew Tish to me again. She kissed my hand. “I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't understand what you were talking about when you said you thought going to the village was a bad idea.” 

I saw the tears, ever-present when she felt I was unjustly accused, glimmer on her lashes. I told her, “They have good reason to hate me, Tish. Don't cry for my sake.” 

Hagrid plopped down three mismatched cups on the table. “Tha's enough of tha' now, Malfoy. The war's been over these last seven years. Time enough for people to move on. Them that can't, weren't fightin' on either side as fer as I can see.” 

“Most likely.” I took a drink of the 'tea' and wished I had the firewhisky again. It was bloody awful. It was so strong it could have been used to strip barnacles off boat hulls. I saw Tish gag also and then begin spooning sugar into her brew. I almost laughed as she caught my eye. “Thank you, Hagrid, for your assistance tonight. I don't know why you were so kind. I never was to you when I was here.” 

“Be that as it may, young Malfoy, I got the feelin' that you've changed a bit.” Hagrid rubbed his beard and peered at me, his black eyes twinkling like the old Headmaster's. He looked meaningfully at Tish then back to me. “So, tell me what you've been doin' lately.” 

I told him the whole sorry story from the time I exited Azkaban, expecting him to throw me out all the while and was pleasantly surprised when he congratulated me on my new job. I finally realized what Potter and his two obnoxious friends had seen in the oaf. I was sorry I missed his kindness when I was at Hogwarts. I told him so, and then he started blubbering as I'd seen him do many times in my youth. Tish placed her hand on his arm. He enveloped her in his embrace, and I saw her disappear in a tangle of food-littered beard and tree-trunk arms. He finally let her go, and he asked, “So, young Malfoy, 'ow did you come to meet this loverly Muggle?” 

“I met her the first time when Aunt Bella asked me to torture then kill her.” There was the bombshell I had been waiting to drop. “As a matter of fact, Letitia wants to know why I became a Death Eater.” 

Hagrid's kind eyes, still red from weeping turned to me. “Tha's somethin' she should know, doncher think?” 

“Yes, sir. I just don't know how to begin.” I took Tish's hand and settled her against me once more. 

Hagrid, ever-practical said, “Well, at the beginnin' I s'pose.” 

He poured more tea, and I told her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

Penance

Chapter 7

Tish didn't speak to me as we flew back to London. I hadn't expected her to. My reasons for becoming a Death Eater were the same as my reasons for becoming a junkie. I, at the time, felt I had no choice. Whilst my father was in Azkaban, my mother under the thumb of her strange and mad sister, I was still young enough to want glory for our family name. It had seemed, when I was given the assignment by the Monster, that I could obtain some measure of relief for all. Riddle had threatened my parents' lives for father had disgraced us by failing him. The Dark Lord had delivered the threat through Aunt Bella, and as I said earlier, I feared her almost more than I feared the Heir of Slytherin. 

And so I accepted. Snape had attempted to aid me in my task, but I felt I couldn't risk allowing his star to rise while my family's waned. I realize now that Snape had been instructed by Albus Dumbledore to stop me from carrying out his own murder. If I had allowed Snape to stop me before that night, I would have still chosen to be a Death Eater. It was in my blood and heritage, I believed. In that respect, I was no better than Fenrir Greyback and his heed to the call of the moon in his blood.

I told this to Tish, my beautiful Muggle Angel, and she seemed to accept it. Her acceptance faltered however, when I told her of the Muggle raids of which I had been part. I could see the ghosts of her family in her eyes. I could hear the screams of her younger brothers and her father as some un-named Death Eater ravaged her and her mother before them. I could remember the look on her face as my Aunt told me to finish her after her torture. It was the look I saw there now.

The crimes I committed I could justify to myself as my cost to survive, but I couldn't trick others into believing that I did them with any less conviction than I had before my heroin induced epiphany. I had believed that the quest for pure-blood supremacy was just. I had believed that the ends justified the means, even if I didn't always have the stomach to commit the acts. I had believed the lies and tortured philosophy of a madman, and I alone was guilty for that belief. My culpability lay in my faith and I couldn't be forgiven it. I understood her disgust even if it tore my soul asunder. 

When I dropped her at her flat, I didn't look at her. I had no right. She called after me, but I fled; just as I had fled the scene of Dumbledore's murder; just as I had fled from Azkaban to heroin. I ran through the streets to my flat and was comforted by the aching in my sides and the burning of my legs. When I reached the mean dwelling, winded though I was, I ran on. I found myself at the doors of the church and I finally allowed myself to sink to the stairs, gasping and wretched. I felt Father Cavanaugh's reassuring presence in the shadows, just as I had felt Snape's on that night I met your mother. The priest said nothing. He only made sure I was able to exorcise my demons in peace. Angry tears came unbidden to my eyes and I dashed them away with my palm, pushing harder than necessary, punishing myself. 

I heard the church bells toll midnight before I moved from my perch and stumbled home. Tomorrow was another day even if it wouldn't contain any joy.

Tish met me at my flat. Her concern for me made her manic and she practically flew at me and kissed me all over my face. When her mania subsided she offered, “Draco, you just brought up bad memories for me. I don't care what you were in the past. I just care what you will be. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I don't know why.” I drew her into my arms, needing to feel the reassurance of her body against mine.

We had made love before, but that night we became lovers. I felt as if we had joined souls and my tarnished half of the coupled equation became brighter because of her shining goodness. That was the first night she stayed over, and I was able to lavish the attention on her that I had wanted to all along. I told her I loved her unafraid of her reaction. She loved me too, and she showed me with every caress and every sigh. 

The next few weeks were to bring changes, the largest one coming in the form of your Aunt Liz. (I hope your godparents will allow her to continue to see her and her son.) No, she's not really related to you. She showed up at the soup kitchen on a dreary Monday. She was a hard-eyed, thin woman with a young wizard in tow. I dropped the ladle I had been holding as I recognized her from one of the Muggle raids conducted by my Uncle Rodolphus. 

He had brought the young woman, who stood before me now, back to the Manor while my Aunt had been away taking care of The Dark Lord’s whims. The girl had been sixteen at the most, with a mane of spiky multi-coloured hair, a thin, hard body and the physical presence of a fighter. I remembered thinking that she reminded me of my cousin Nymphadora Tonks, whom I had only seen from a distance at the time, though I knew she had a price on her head due to her marriage to the werewolf, Lupin. My uncle raped the girl repeatedly over the next week sometimes in front of an audience, parading her around the Manor in between bouts on a leather thong; calling her a Muggle dog and making her eat off the floor when he deigned to feed her. When he violated her, the screams could be heard throughout the Manor, before they finally at the end dissolved into hoarse croaks as the days went by. Father had removed me from the debauchery after one particularly heinous incident involving Greyback. I assumed she was killed.

Now, she stood before me, her jaw firmly set, the boy thrust between us. I looked at the child, recognizing his square jaw and hazel eyes as the legacy of my Uncle.

“Father Cavanaugh says you're like he is,” she said as she gave the boy a little pat.

I stirred from my shock. “Like he is?”

“He says you're a witch, like my boy is,” she barked. “Don't deny it. Father don't lie.”

“Please, step back to my office,” I said, begging her to silence with my hushed tone. “Any business we need to conduct must be done privately.”

I offered her my arm, a gesture from my days with my formidable mother, and the woman gasped as my sleeve rode up to reveal part of the faded Dark Mark on my arm. She instructed the boy to stay behind, “Toby, don't move. Mummy'll be back in a trice.”

She followed me and I could sense her fear, as palpable as a wall, between us. I left the door open to make her feel more at ease, but she wouldn't sit. She grabbed my arm and exposed the Mark to her eyes. The sight elicited a hiss of recognition. “Yer one o' them bastards.”

“I was,” I said, hoping I wouldn't have to divulge to her the extent of my knowledge of her son's origins.

“Father said you were. He says you've reformed.” She glared at me. “You won't hurt us?”

I fixed the mildest look I could on my face. “No, I won't.”

“My son, he was got on me by one o' you lot.” She shook with the effort it took her to tell me this. “I don't blame Toby none, so don't go pitying my boy. He's going to be a good witch, like the dark one who saved me.”

“Wizard. Your son's a wizard,” I said absently. _Snape again._ Why should I feel the sharp pang at every mention of him after all these years? I nodded. “I know of whom you speak. He was the best of us, and I try to emulate him daily.”

“Yer a damn sight better lookin' than that one was.” She snorted, and apparently coming to a decision said, “I suppose if Father says yer all right then I can trust you.”

I breathed easier, one hurdle with this woman cleared. “Now, how may I help you, Madam?”

“Oh, I ain't married. I like girls,” she said, her jaw jutting further. I sensed she was withholding information, but who was I to accuse her? “My name's Liz Cowell and that's my son, Toby. He's been showin' signs of what he is fer a couple of months. Father says you might be able to help me with ‘im.”

“I think I can. There are spells I can do to route his magic in more appropriate avenues.” I stood. “I'll need to do a little research. I've never actually done the charms before. If you could meet me here in a week, I should be able to let you know more. “

Liz considered as she inched toward the open door. I knew the prospect of meeting me must be terrifying to her. She bit the inside of her cheek as she stared at me. I offered,” If you would feel more comfortable, I could ask my girlfriend to join us, Ms. Cowell.”

Liz nodded a sharp gesture that spoke volumes about her courage. “That would do fine, but we'll have to meet at the pub I work at. More people around. You understand, I'm sure.”

After her departure, I buried my head in my hands, shamed at the desire for the Muggle poison that was running through me after the encounter. I wondered if I would ever be cured.

&*&*&

Harry set aside the letter. He had not realized the extent of the Death Eater crimes. Of course, during the war, he had other things to consider. Yet, upon reflection, he felt he should have known. He had heard the Muggle news coverage of the atrocities in Bosnia and now Darfur. Rape was a common form of debasement and out-breeding in war situations. He wondered how many Liz and Toby Cowells were in the United Kingdom. He needed information, and he knew the person to contact.

&*&*&

I waited for Tish at my flat that evening. We had arranged to meet for dinner. I was to cook it without magic. I had borrowed a cookery book from Father Cavanaugh's housekeeper and the information had been quite edifying. I began to have a greater respect for house-elves and Muggles. 

I busied myself making the salad, tearing leaves into uniform bits, and sliced carrots and tomatoes with abandon. I had made a beef roast and it seemed a little tough when I cut into it. The mashed potatoes I made were more lump than not, and the gravy, produced from the roast's juices, greasy. 

I heard Tish enter the flat, and wiped my hands on a cloth before I made my way to her. “How was your day, Love?”

She appeared to be distracted as she bussed me absently. “Fine.”

I stood next to her, nonplussed by her coolness as I took her coat from her. I put it on the hook and turned to her. “Have I done something to displease you?”

“Oh, no, Draco,” she said, as she hugged me. “I just received some unsettling news today. I'll tell you about it later, after we eat the wonderful dinner you've prepared.”

We repaired to the kitchen/dining area. I had already set the table. The cheap tableware gleamed in the candlelight, and the bedraggled, hothouse flowers I had purchased earlier brightened the space. I seated her and began dishing the food from the kitchen bar. She gave me a shy smile and I returned it, inordinately pleased with the small accomplishment of the meal I made. “I'm afraid it won't be very good. I never had to prepare a meal this way before.”

She placed a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth and I watched her chew the lumps. She said after a moment, “Well, the consistency is interesting, but it tastes good.”

I waggled my eyebrows at her. “That sounds familiar.”

She laughed and told me the mundanities of her day, a little more at ease. I related my meeting with Liz and asked her if she would accompany me to the pub. We made it a date. We slipped into comfortable silence as we finished the meal. 

I was right, the roast was rather tough. 

She followed me to the kitchen, a disaster after my first cooking effort, and helped me clean. Once finished, I asked her, “So, My Angel, what's on your mind?”

She burst into tears. I hadn't expected this reaction to my query, and I became alarmed. I hugged her to me. “Tell me. Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” she moaned, drawing back to look at me with reddened eyes. “Draco, I'm pregnant. I don't want you to think I'm trying to trap you. If you don't want to be with me...”

I shut her up with a passionate kiss. She was mine. I felt a fierce, painful joy as I gathered her to me and carried her to bed. After, I said, “I don't want to hear another word about us parting. You're mine now, and that baby in your belly is mine. Now, when will you marry me?”

Eyes still glazed from passion, she caressed my Dark Mark slowly. “I think we have a great deal to discuss before we take that step, Draco.”

I drew away from her, hurt. “Of course. I wasn't thinking.”

She got out of bed and drew on her clothes obviously as miserable as I was. The quiet of the room was broken by the electric hum of the ancient fridge in the next room. She turned to me as I lay back in the bed, my arms across my chest. She started to speak. I turned from her. “Just... don't.”

She left the room and I listened the jangle of her keys as she picked them up from the table by the entryway. I heard the door open then shut before I exited the bed. Standing naked in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I looked critically at myself. I wasn't bad looking except for the fading stain on my arm and the scars I bore from my recent battle with heroin My face was pointed, almost elfin, (Merlin forbid anyone mention that to Lucius) and my hair was the same colour and texture as my father's, a pale, sun-gold. My brow-line had receded slightly, but I knew the Blacks did not go to baldness. I was still youthfully slender, and even so, I worked too hard to be fat. Therefore, I wouldn't lose her on my looks. I decided, given my past, she was right to be cautious; but it still hurt like hell. I resolved to allow her the time she needed, vowing she would be mine. I was a Malfoy, after all, and no one turned me down.

&*&*&

Harry Fire-called Hermione after she came home from work. “Hello, Harry. I was just thinking of you and Ginny. Ron says hello too. Yes Ron, I'll tell him.”

Harry smirked as his best friend's head appeared, replacing Hermione's. “Hey, I got the tickets to the Canons match on Saturday. Will you and Ginny be going?”

Hermione said from the background, “Ron, can't it wait?”

“I'll see what Ginny says, but I'm sure we'll be there.” Harry replied. “Ron, can I speak to Hermione now?”

“Oh, sure mate.” He disappeared only to reappear a moment later. “Oi, Harry, I thought I'd let you be the first to know; I was accepted to Auror’s Academy. I'll be in the next class.”

“That's great, Ron. So George has found a replacement for you?” Harry was concerned about his friend's older brother. George had never really recovered from the loss of his twin.

“Yeah, he’s found a partner. A life partner, if you know what I mean.” Ron's smile was genuine as he added, “You know Susan Bones? I'm not supposed to say, but I caught them shag...”

Hermione's impatient voice cut stridently through her husband's, “Ron, that's private. Let me speak to Harry.”'

His other friend's bushy head poked through the green flames. “Just keep that quiet for now, okay, Harry?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something I was reading today,” he began. “Does the Ministry keep any statistics on the victims of Muggle-baiting from the war?”

“Muggle-baiting? You mean all the crimes against Muggles. I don't think so,” Hermione replied, her voice tinged with unease. “Why? Has there been a new outbreak?”

“No. I was speaking of a specific crime... against women.” He could not bring himself to say the word. 

“Oh, you mean the rapes that occurred? No, unfortunately not.” Hermione's tone spoke volumes about her feelings on the subject. 

“So no one has kept track of the magical children from those... rapes?”

“Noooo... Wait a minute, Hogwarts. The school keeps a list of all Muggleborns in the United Kingdom. We might try there.” Hermione had her determined, research-face on. “Let me contact Minerva. She could give me a place to start.”

“Thanks, 'Mione. I knew you'd think of something.” Harry said.

“Harry, this isn't about the Malfoy manuscript is it? I'd hate to think he did something like that and got off Scot-free.” Hermione said. 

“It's not a manuscript, and no. He knows a woman who that... thing happened to and I thought I'd try to help her.” Harry's head began pounding. “Listen, I think Ginny's back from the grocery. If you could get back to me with that information, I'd be grateful.”

“Sure, Harry,” Hermione said. “Give Ginny and James my love.”

“'Kay. ‘Night, Hermione. Tell Ron I'll let him know about the game Saturday.” Harry pulled his head out of the Floo, dusting himself off. He turned back to the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

Penance

Chapter 8

....Harry turned back to the letter.

&*&*&

After the previous evening, I looked to spend a miserable weekend alone in my flat, or in equal misery, scouring used bookstores for the charms I needed for the boy. His mother's face haunted me in my sleep. I dreamt that she was calling my name as I raped her. Her face would metamorphose to my mother's, Tish's, or Granger's. I woke with the rime of ancient fear and sorrow on my face. 

I went to Diagon Alley disguised as was my habit. The street was bustling, and I felt like an intruder around the garish clothing and overtly non-Muggle atmosphere. The third shop I entered had the book for which I was looking. I purchased the slim volume using the last of my Wizarding currency, so I went to Gringotts to exchange a few spare pounds. The Goblin clerk peered at me with more than moderate interest. That race can see through glamours, I've been told. He sneered, and then pushed my Knuts and Sickles towards me. “I see you've fallen on hard fortune, young Master. I never thought I'd see one of the great Malfoys reduced to glamours and transfigured Muggle rags. Pity.”

I smiled, the hard one Lucius reserved for enemies. “Not as much a pity as losing the Goblin-made Gryffindor sword to a mere child, I'm sure.”

He sputtered and turned a brighter shade of brown. I scooped my coins into my purse and inclined my head politely. “Good day, sir.”

I made my way back to my section of Muggle London and began reading. The book yielded several useful charms and I committed them to memory both physically and mentally. It wouldn't do for the only wizard the Cowell woman knew to appear amateurish. 

I ate a light dinner and decided to attend Vespers. I hadn't done so in a few weeks, and I needed the calm of the sanctuary and the peace of whispered prayers. On my way out, I met Tish. My heart lurched painfully in my chest, and I had trouble catching my breath. She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and said, “Draco, whatever you think I was trying to say, I didn't refuse your proposal because of what you were. We just need to get to know each other better, that's all.”

I nodded. I knew she wasn't telling me the truth, but I would let her lie so that I might convince her of my worthiness. She moved up the stairs to the landing on which I stood. I enfolded her in my arms, relishing the sweet tang of the pomade she used to control her wild, African hair. She said, her words spilling over me like rich, dark chocolate, “I do love you.”

“I know,” I answered, then added, “I was just going to attend Vespers. Would you care to join me?”

She nodded and accompanied me. 

We spent the next day discussing the situation in which Liz Cowell found herself. I mentioned that Tish might know her, given that Snape had helped the woman also. My Angel only looked thoughtful. I hadn't thought any of the women abused on Muggle raids were left alive. I told this to Tish. She said, “Probably not many were. If it hadn't been for Mr. Snape, all of us would have died.”

“How many women stayed with you in the safe-house?” I asked.

“At any given time, six maybe? But there were more, I know,” she answered after a moment of consideration. “He kept moving us to different locations, and there were always different faces at each one. He wouldn't allow us to know each other very well. We only used first names. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”

I sat, lost in thought for a moment. I didn't want to ask the next question, but knew I had to. “How many do you think were raped?”

She looked past me bleakly. “All of us.”

I let the subject die, and instead focused on the child we had created. “Are you scared? About the baby?”

“Yes.” She twined her fingers through mine before kissing them. “But I won't get rid of it.”

“Because you're Catholic.” It was a question. I wanted to hear that she kept the child because it was mine.

“Because I've already lost too much,” she said. “So have you.”

That answer pleased me well enough. I kissed her forehead tenderly. She turned to me and asked, “Will we raise him to be Catholic, even if he's a wizard?”

I thought for a moment. I had been raised with a faith that sacrificed other lives to save my own. She wanted to raise our child with a faith in a sacrificial blood-god who saved the world. The concept was still a little too Gryffindor for me, but I could live with it. “If it's important to you, yes, she'll be raised Catholic.”

“She, hmm?” Tish queried, her lips humming against my throat.

I teased, “She'll be just like you; a stubborn little Angel who will have to fight off all comers because of her great and terrible beauty.”

She twitched her eyebrow at me. “No, he'll be the apple of my eye, and spoiled just like you.”

The conversation devolved to tickles and caresses. I loved My Angel and she loved me. All was well.

The end of the week brought my first meeting with Liz Cowell. I waited for her to get off her shift while toying with paper coasters that were stacked on the table, ready for use by sloppy patrons. I had never been in a Muggle pub before, and found it to be exactly like a Wizarding one, the only difference being the beverages served. Merlin, I missed Butterbeer sometimes. 

Tish wasn't there yet, and I noted several hard-eyed women glancing my way with interest. I studiously avoided eye contact with them. I saw Liz counting out her till. She shot me a guarded look as she approached. As I had been trained, I stood and offered her my arm. She declined it with a slanting, offended look. She folded her arms across her thin chest and sneered. “I thought you said someone would be here with you.”

“She's coming,” I replied. “She must have been detained by work.”

Liz slid into the seat across from me. “I don't have much time. I have to pick Toby up from his grandmum's before she goes to work.”

I saw a flash of light as the door to the establishment opened. Tish stood uncertainly in the entrance. I waved at her and she hurried over. She looked drawn and a little pale, less golden. I stood as she approached and she slid into the chair beside me, her eyes drifting around the room. Liz's attention, however, was riveted on Tish's face. “Yer name's Tish, isn't it?”

“Liz?” Tish breathed. The two women hugged as if they were long-lost sisters. I heard Liz sob as they embraced. I sat quietly as several patrons gave me knowing looks, apparently surmising we three were meeting for an assignation of another sort. I choked back a laugh at the thought, and the two women broke apart. 

A man who sat behind us at the next table scoffed rather loudly, “'Ey, mate, if yer going to shag two birds, why not make both o' them good-lookin'?”

“Blow it out yer arse, Mulcahy, yeh Wally.” Liz said and reached over me to slap at the back of the offender’s head. “Le's go to my mum's. We can talk intelligently there.”

We arrived a little later at a group of row houses that had never seen better days. They had been cheaply made in the nineteenth century, and were falling down now. Liz let herself into the foyer with a key and bade us wait outside. A few moments later, a frowzy-haired harridan exited the building. She shot a venom-filled look at Tish and spat at my feet. I let my wand, ever at the ready, slip to my palm. Liz appeared a moment later. “Sorry, tha's the landlady and she don't like coloureds and whites mixin'. Mum's just leavin'. We can talk inside.”

I looked at my sullen-faced Angel as we entered the building. I whispered, “What does that mean-- 'coloureds and whites mixing?'”

“Pure-bloods and everyone else, if I understand what you've been telling me.” Tish's expression darkened. “It's all the same.”

“I didn't realize you Muggles had the same type of prejudice against each other,” I said, chagrined at my ignorance. I had just assumed they would be like cattle, without prejudice as far as their own herd was concerned. I felt a little sickened at the thought. I still had so much to learn about this world.

We made our way up some rickety stairs to a scarred door, which Liz pushed open. A TV blared with the sound of some children's programme, one that I had watched while at Tish's house. The furnishings in the room were shabby but neat. I had the impression that Liz's mother took great pride in her possessions. The boy sat playing with a set of ancient steel cars in the middle of the room on a handmade carpet placed over a warped oak floor. He gave me an appraising look as I sat on the floor with him, imitating the movements he made. He turned away from me, letting me know I was not welcome. “Mummy, who's that lady?”

I continued to chug around the floor, now charmed by the autos. I had never had toys like this when I was young. Liz said, “This is Miss Tish, and you remember the man from the kitchen. I told you he was Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yeah, he's one o' them bastards.” The boy scowled in my direction. 

Liz grabbed him by his arm and stood him before me. “Say yer sorry. This minute.”

I was taken aback by the swiftness of her reaction. I wanted to tell her the boy was right, but knew I would undermine her authority. The boy's eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted rebelliously. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, what?” His mother barked.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled, then protested softly, “That's what you and Grandmum called him.”

“That's enough. Get yer thin's together while I talk to my guests.” The boy looked as if he were going to add another comment, then saw his mother's expression. “Now.”

Liz grimaced ruefully as the boy began to move about the room. “Sorry, we did say them thin's where he could hear.”

I waved my hand in dismissal. “No need to worry, I’m sure I've said worse.”

Liz scowled, ready to blast me, no doubt, when her mother bustled into the room. She was thin like her daughter, with the same battered-looking fighter's face. Her grey hair was cut in a short bob, and hung limply about her head. She had a tired look about her, making her seem as if life had never been kind to her. I stood, bowing as I always did, and she stopped as if she had hit a wall. Her eyes widened in fear. “Liz? Is this one of them?”

“Yes, Mum. But he's not the One.” Liz looked around the room, as if she couldn't stand to see me. We four adults stood in an uncomfortable tableau until the clock struck the hour.

“Oh, look at the time. I'm off to work.” The older woman kissed her daughter absently, then her grandson. “Stay the night, Liz. I want to talk to you when I get home.”

“Yes, Mum.” Liz gestured for us to take a seat as her mother shut the door. “You said you'd found somethin' to help Toby?”

I explained the spells I would perform. She winced as I talked about the magic I would need to do to make her son less likely to act out in the wrong situations. She blurted, “Is that the only way? You can't just remove it, and be done with it?”

“I could, but you would be denying him the right to be what he is,” I explained. “It would be like asking one of your Healers to cut off his arm just because you didn't like it.”

“Oh,” she said, looking a little sick at the thought. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

I noticed Tish edging towards the boy out of the corner of my eye. He began talking animatedly with her. Liz was chewing on the inside of her cheek again. “Okay, but will he be able to go to school then?”

“I don't understand. He's able to go now, isn't he?”

“No, he's been asked to leave by one already.” Liz looked at the boy, her features drawn with sadness. “They said he's too disruptive.”

I thought for a moment, then asked, “How much magic has he manifested?”

The woman laughed. “I'd say a lot. He got mad at his teacher, gave her a pig’s nose, and flew her about. Then when the headmaster came to take him out o' the room, he made him stick to the ceilin'.”

Uncle Rodolphus had never been that strong at the boy’s age. I had heard the stories of his youthful exploits and nothing compared. I was impressed, and it must have shown on my face, for she asked, “Is that strange?”

“It is a little more of a manifestation than I expected. His father wa... must have been a very strong wizard. I may need to work with Toby on his control. Would that be possible?” I asked. “We could make it three times a week for a fortnight and see if that helps.”

“When can you start?” She asked her voice still tense. “I love my boy, but sometimes he scares me.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I can meet you here with Tish?”

“Yeah. That'd be fine.” She stood, and I joined her. “I get off at the same time.”

She saw us out, after sending the boy to the kitchen for a glass of milk. “Thanks. Do I owe you anythin' fer all yer help?”

“No, I just hope I can give you a better opinion of the Wizarding world.” I cringed inside as I said this. “I mean, your son's one... and I'm... one, and his father... Shite.”

Tish laughed at my discomfiture. “We'll see you tomorrow, Liz, and maybe this time we can go out for a bite after. I'd like to catch up with you.”

The two women hugged again. The boy and I stared at each other. He had the mannerisms of my uncle, softened by the blunt sweetness of his mother. He turned to me and made a perfect imitation of the bow I had made to his grandmother. I returned it and smiled. “Goodnight, Mr. Cowell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

The women laughed at our formality. I would make the boy fit into the Wizarding world, I vowed, if it killed me.

The next day went as well as could be expected. The boy didn't trust me, and I wasn't good with children. Liz and Tish talked about their experiences in euphemisms so Toby wouldn't understand. I listened as I set him a lesson to help him control of his magic. I had thought I knew what my uncle inflicted on Liz. I didn't. The effect of that week on this Muggle would forever mark her as separate from the rest of the world. I caught myself gazing at her with new respect. She could have folded in on herself or blamed the child of that unholy union, but she didn't. She was strong, and she definitely loved her son. She saw me looking at her as they spoke and she flushed an ugly stain on her already florid person. I looked away, unsettled by the very nature of my regard. She had every right to mistrust and hate me, and yet she still trusted me enough to work with her son. 

We went to a McDonald's restaurant. I had never eaten Muggle fast food, and I vowed I never would again. It was atrocious. Liz rolled her eyes as her son begged for more chips. I gave him mine with pleasure. His mother patted his back expectantly. “What d'you say, Toby?”

“Thank you Mr. Malfoy.” He looked at me with a little higher regard than he had the night before.

Tish looked at Liz, perplexity crossing her features. “Toby. Where do I know that name from?”

“It was the dark man's middle name, Tobias. I needed a name fer my boy when my time came. I asked if I could name the baby fer him,” Liz said. “He smirked, you know that one he always did, and said my boy would hate me fer that, but he'd give me his middle one. He said it was a proper Muggle name.”

Snape again. I laughed aloud. He had a namesake, the poor bastard. Tish heard the note of hysteria in my reaction to the news and patted my knee. She turned to a startled Liz and said, “They were friends. The man's name was Severus Snape.”

“Eww. That's a bloody awful name.” Liz laughed. “No wonder the poor sod didn't want us to know it.”

“Severus was the name of a Roman emperor,” I said defensively.

Liz twitted me, “And where did the name Draco come from, his dog?”

I turned away from them flustered. Tish kissed my cheek. “Don't pout my spoiled one. We're just having a little fun.”

I tried not to smile as her hand snaked further up my thigh. Damn her.

I found myself liking Liz as the days of our acquaintance went by. She had an easy way about her with people, a way that I had never possessed. I began talking to her about the situation between Tish and me; how I wanted her to marry me and she wouldn't, about the baby, and about my desire to provide a home for them.

Liz became a confidante, a friend like I had never had before. Tish encouraged it. She liked Liz too; she had since their days in the safe house. For the first time in my life, I felt I was accepted for just being myself. It was a rare pleasure for me. I didn't know how much I would need that friendship in the months to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

Penance

Chapter 9

... I didn't know how much I would need that friendship in the months to come.

&*&*&

Liz, Toby and I had been to the London Zoo on a warm day in March during Easter break. I had enjoyed the antics of the apes, though they seemed a little bored. Toby had been fascinated by the polar bears to the point of demanding, rather stridently, the purchase of a large stuffed-animal version of one. I bought the oversized toy over his mother's objections. Throughout our visit, Liz had been quiet and withdrawn. I had tried to tease her out of her silence, but she just looked at me sadly. On our way back to the East End via the Underground, with Toby asleep between us she asked, “Drake, have you noticed how pale Tish has been, lately?” 

“She's just overworked. I keep telling her to ask for a smaller caseload, but she won't,” I assured her, but the niggling thought was planted. 

I had noticed that Tish’s nausea, which should have ceased by the end of her first trimester, was still very much a presence. She had lost weight also, and the dark circles under her eyes couldn't be explained away by lack of sleep. She had complained of an aching fever on and off for months, and her tonsils had been painfully swollen. We had taken her to a Healer for this, and the Muggle potions they gave her had no effect. I had spoken to the Muggle Ob-Gyn Healer about these things, but he assured me each woman was different in her reaction to the hormones of pregnancy. I had accepted his statement at the time. Now, knowing that I wasn't the only one to notice the changes, I thought it best to investigate further. 

Liz stared disgustedly at a man who was paring his nails across from us. “You don't think that, and you know it, Drake. I get feelin's sometimes, and I'm tellin' you there's somethin' wrong.” 

I don't know what prompted my stubborn refusal, but I protested, “The Healer said...” 

“Oh, fuck the bleedin' doctor!” She exclaimed drawing looks of disapprobation from the surrounding occupants. Toby stirred. “Go to another. Get one of yer own kind. There's somethin' wrong, Drake. I know it in my bones.” 

We parted with a quick hug at the station. “I'll call a Healer today. Okay?” 

It was Friday afternoon and I was able to make an appointment for Tish the following week. She had moved in with me in December, and the Healers were quite open to me making appointments for her. I called Tish at work and told her about it. Her tinny-voiced response alarmed me. “Thanks. I've been so tired lately; I was going to make the call myself next week.” 

I placed the device back in its cradle, my hands shaking almost uncontrollably. I waited for her to come home, pacing like the lions we had seen earlier that day. I cleaned the flat compulsively. I had found over the past months that activity helped me keep any latent cravings at bay. By the time she arrived home, the flat was sparkling. She made no comment as I took her satchel, only nodded tiredly at me. I hugged her to me, the bulge of our child between us comforting me in an odd way. I kissed her forehead, “Get some rest, love. I'll fetch some _Pho_ from the shop downstairs.” 

_Pho_ , a Vietnamese dish composed of a thin, broth soup with rice noodles and bits of meat and basil had been her only craving during the pregnancy. I had tried to make it but the shop's was much better. She squeezed me softly. “Thank you.” 

I watched her make her way slowly to the bedroom. Why hadn't I noticed how bad she actually looked? I berated myself all the way to the shop and back. I had picked up some spring rolls for myself and ate them absently when I returned. Once done, I phoned Ian. I had been taking instruction in the Catholic faith so that I might be confirmed at the Easter Services on Sunday. Once we apprised him of his sister's delicate condition, his attitude had been frosty until I began attending Rosary classes and stated my intent to join their faith. He had thawed considerably to me after that. Tish and I were to marry after I was confirmed. The answering machine picked up and I stood dumbly after the beeping tone signalled that I should speak. What could I tell him? I rang off. 

I hadn't felt this helpless since the Dark Lord had issued his fateful order to kill the Headmaster. I paced some more and was relieved to hear Tish stirring in the bedroom. “Draco, stop pacing, and come here.” 

I joined her on the bed. She smiled lazily at me. “You're thinking too loudly again.” 

That had become a joke between us. I did have a tendency to become broody. I always had, even at Hogwarts, but there I had been able to control it with Quidditch practice. Muggle London didn't allow me the physicality that I needed for my release, and 

Tish called my compulsive pacing and cleaning 'thinking too loudly.' 

“I'm sorry, My Angel,” I said, gathering her to me. When had she become so thin? “I suppose Liz just made me realize... I just want to know why you're so tired.” 

She dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. “It's probably nothing. Did you get your suit today?” 

I nodded, absently toying with her hair. “I did. It's grey.” 

She began kissing my throat, sending hot slivers of desire down to my gut. “Have you chosen your Saint's name yet?” 

“Saint Jude,” I said. He was the patron saint of lost causes. I thought he suited me in many ways. 

She giggled wanly against my chest. “Fitting.” 

On Easter Sunday, I was confirmed into the Catholic faith. When the bishop baptised me and then gave me my first communion, I have to admit I was moved. I had become part of something bigger than myself once more except, this time it was something worthwhile. I saw Tish beaming a huge smile at me and I met her gaze proudly. 

By the following fortnight, my world lost its meaning. Tish and I had gone to the Muggle Healer's and she was whisked off to hospital. She had to have something called a biopsy done on her lymph nodes. Several other Muggle technologies were employed to see her interior. I found them to be barbaric, and could barely contain my rage as she went through each in succession. 

We waited another week for confirmation of the dire news. Tish had Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I, of course, didn't grasp the import of the news. Tish sat solemn and pale next to me. I asked, having been completely taken out of my element, “This disease, it can be treated, right?” 

The healer looked at me sadly. “In most cases, yes. Even with her pregnancy, we could administer chemotherapy. We would administer radiation treatments after the birth of your child. We would remove her spleen, and administer a bone marrow transplant if all else failed... However, the prognosis is grim in your case, Ms.Cavanaugh.“ 

My Malfoy hauteur rose. I stood in my most commanding posture, and said with quiet menace, “You will be doing these things, not would or could. She will not be allowed to die.” 

The Healer looked discomfited. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy, we will discuss the appropriate options for Ms. Cavanaugh's situation. I do have to tell you both, however, hers is a very aggressive case. There seems to have been an environmental factor that exacerbated the growth of tumours, and they are extensive. I can hold out little hope of recovery. The best thing you both might choose would be the safe delivery of your child.” 

Tish gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles white. 

“No,” I said. “Tish, we'll take you to my Healers. They can treat any disease much better than this Muggle can.” 

“Feel free to obtain a second opinion,” the Healer said, looking between the two of us tiredly. “I'm afraid the outcome will be the same, no matter what physician you choose.” 

I took Tish gently by her arm, and she followed me still grave and silent. Once out on the street, I grabbed her desperate to feel her body against me in a measure of assurance. She sobbed once and I shook her violently. “You will not give up hope. You will not die.” 

I pulled her to me again. We stood for some time in the waning light of the early spring sun, two people broken by unbearable pain. 

&*&*&

Ginny found Harry outside on the front stoop of their home. In the pale glow of the moon, she could see his hands twitching against the strong emotion he felt. He always handled his pain like that. She padded back to bed. 

&*&*&

I Disapparated to St. Mungo's the next morning, having contacted Ian about taking the day off from work. We hadn't told him or Liz yet. The news was too raw. I made my way to the directory and found Patil's name and office number. I burst into her quiet domain nearly maddened by my grief. She looked up from the paperwork before her in startlement. Her expression hardened as she took in my wild-eyed mania. “Malfoy, you haven't come for another treatment, have you?” 

“No, it's my fiancée, she's ill, and I need you to see her,” I blurted. 

“Is she here? I'm due for rounds at the half hour, but I think I can fit her in.” She stood, placing the tools of her trade in her loose robe. 

I sank to a seat boneless. “She's a Muggle. She can't come here.” 

Patil gaped at me. “A Muggle? Malfoy, I can't treat a Muggle. The Ministry would be all over me... A Muggle? How did you end up...? A Death Eater...?” 

I was quickly growing impatient with her verbal struggles. I cut her off coldly, “She's carrying my child. Will you help, or won't you?” 

She adjusted her Healer's robes running her hands over the hidden pockets. She was buying time for herself, and I knew it. I lurched forward and up in disgust. “Never mind, Patil. I should have known not to count on a Gryffindor.” 

“You were always a prejudiced git, Malfoy,” she said, her brown eyes blazing with anger. “I didn't say I wouldn't help. You will need to bring her to the Leaky Cauldron. It's the only place I can think of where a Muggle's presence won't be noticed quickly. I'll be there tomorrow evening at seven.” 

I felt only a little ashamed for playing on House sympathies as I had. “Thank you, Patil. Until tomorrow.” 

The next day brought dawning hope for me. Surely magical treatments would yield greater relief of her disease. My mood was infectious. I heard Tish singing in the shower as she made herself ready for work. I alternated between hope and despair the rest of the day, sometimes responding bitingly to my co-workers, sometimes nearly dancing with joy. When our meeting time finally came, I gathered Tish nervously to me to Side-Along Apparate to a designated point outside the Leaky Cauldron. She looked tired, so I supported her bodily through the doorway. “It's all right. You can lean on me anytime you need to.” 

She smiled up at me in her dazzling way and my breath quickened. How could I live without her? 

Patil was waiting for us by the stairway. I introduced them, and Tish rallied herself. “I'm glad to meet you. You're the first school-chum I've met of Draco's.” 

Patil made no comment. Of course, she hadn't been the recipient of much of my vituperative anti-Gryffindor sentiment and was pureblood, so maybe she really didn't have much to say. However, she was present on several occasions when I had attacked Granger viciously. I wordlessly thanked Patil for her restraint. The Healer informed us, “I've secured a room for us. I'll be conducting your examination up there.” 

Tish was still leaning heavily on me exhaustion etched lines in her beautiful features. “Draco, I don't think I can make it.” 

“No need,” I assured her. “What floor is the room?” 

“Third,” Patil answered. “Room Three-o-eight.” 

I cast a lightening charm on Tish and carried her up the stairs to the room. Patil released the paltry wards that passed as security in the establishment, and I placed My Angel on the bed. She had gone from golden-brown to grey on the trip up the stairs. I cast a look at the Healer and noticed her expression had undergone a transformation from exasperation at me to concern for My Angel. 

She cast a diagnostic spell, the cool, blue glow filling the room. Tish didn't register any shock at the magic; she only closed her eyes and settled back tiredly. I watched Patil's face as she ran the full spectrum of diagnostic charms. Her brows were drawn together in concentration. I wished I had paid more attention to Severus when he had tried to teach me to read those spells on our long flight from Hogwarts. The Healer began singing softly to Tish. My love's breathing became softer and more relaxed. When Patil stood, she motioned me to follow her out into the hall. I kissed Tish's forehead and smoothed her hair, and then followed. 

“Draco, was she a victim of Muggle-baiting during the war?” Patil asked arms crossed over her chest. 

I couldn't look at her as I answered, “Yes.” 

“How many times was she Cruciated?” 

“I-I don't know,” I mumbled. “I saw Snape do it twice and I cast but it didn’t work properly. I don't know how many times before that. Aunt Bella had her. Before that... I don't know.” 

“Merlin, Draco, she was one of your victims?” Patil sagged against the whitewashed plaster of the hall. “You sick fuck.” 

I had my wand at her throat before I knew I had reacted. Her soft, brown eyes widened and I noted the erratic pulse point at the base of her neck. When I caught myself, I moved away ashamed. “I'm sorry; I seem to be a little over set right now. What has her torture got to do with the illness?” 

“I don't know what game you're playing, Malfoy. Do you think you'll garner some sympathy for having a Muggle as a mistress?” Patil moved away from me, her wand now drawn. “The great Malfoy, soiling himself with a dirty Muggle whore? Is that why you allowed her to get pregnant? So you can reclaim the Malfoy name with a dirty Half-blood?” 

She was shouting, and I lost control for the first time since I had kicked heroin. I slammed her by the neck into the wall. I had seen Lucius do this many times to recalcitrant Death Eaters and had experienced it a time or two myself, and I knew the discomfort it caused. I felt great satisfaction as she coughed from the force of the blow. I wrenched the wand out of her hand while she was unable to speak. “I have no desire to kill you, but you are so close to gaining that honour right now. Listen, and listen well: Tish is going to be my wife. I want nothing more than to have her live a long life with my child and me. I don't care about the Malfoy name any more than you do right now. You will give me the information I seek, and you will do it now.” 

I let her go and she sank to the floor, sputtering about Aurors and the Ministry. I was in full Malfoy mode and laughed derisively at her. “Come, Patil, you won't call the Ministry. Or do you want them to know you practiced your Healing skills on a Muggle? Now, get up.” 

I offered her my hand and she slapped it away before rising shakily under her own power. I handed her the wand I had taken, and she looked at me in disbelief. I replied to her look, “I just want an answer. I don't have to explain my actions to you. Please, Patil.” 

She nodded at me still wary. I seem to have passed some test in her twisted Gryffindor mind. Her voice was painfully raspy as she said, “We've noticed a rise in cases of this type of cancer since the war. It's rare but a side effect of _Crucio_ in Muggles and Muggleborns. Use of magic around her will only make her condition worsen. That's why she was so tired after your Apparition. I suggest you do what her Muggle Healers prescribe.” 

“Magic can't help her?” I asked numbly. The universe had shifted, and I was lost. Had I misplaced my faith all along? In a moment of adamantine clarity, I realized I had nothing that would stave off the death of the only person who had ever loved me as I was. I felt my throat constrict, and an animal howl tore from the depths of my soul. I had lost everything with Patil's cool statement of fact. 

Patil left me in the hall utterly alone in my grief. 

So, son that is how I came to this. Your mother has refused to wed me. She doesn't want me to be a widower before I am thirty, stubborn woman. You were delivered at thirty-two weeks, a tiny, red thing, who yowled at the injustice of the world even before you opened your eyes. 

I write this letter to you now, not because I want to die, but because I honestly don't think I'm strong enough to survive the death of your mother. And believe me; Death will come for her no matter where I place my faith. I only want you to know that I love you, no matter what comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

Penance

Chapter 10

...Friday...

Harry woke to a pounding headache. Lack of sleep, stress, and inactivity had taken their toll on his body. He went to the medicine cabinet to get a headache potion, feeling queasy and a bit angry. The damn Malfoy letter had stirred him more than he wanted to admit. He had not cried when he read about the woman, Tish, but he had come damned close. He was angry about all the emotion he expended on a woman he did not even know and a man he had never liked. Malfoy. He said the name as a curse in his head, but its tenor was burnished with the coppery tang of fear. He could not help but see the similarities in his situation and the git's. Ginny was pregnant. She had several doses of the Cruciatus curse under her belt thanks to the Carrows. If she were not pure-blood, she might have contracted the same illness. Dread filled him as he remembered the one Muggle-born who he absolutely knew had been so cursed, Hermione. He clutched the edge of the sink basin reflexively. It took great effort for him to release his hold on the porcelain, but he still felt nauseous. He would contact Ron today and let him know about the effects of the curse on Muggle-borns. 

He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a quick cup of coffee. Ginny was waiting for him at the table. He offered her a quick kiss, and then sat. “I finished the letter last night.”

Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Well, are we or aren't we going to be the child's godparents?”

“What do you think?” Harry asked. He took a sip of coffee. He already knew what she thought, but he wanted to hear the words.

“Yes,” Ginny said. Harry knew what it took her to say it. She had never been a great fan of Draco's and Lucius had used her in such a horrible way during her first year at Hogwarts. She could not be thrilled at the prospect of having a spawn of Malfoy in their home, no matter how the git said he had changed. She reached for Harry's hand clasping it with cold fingers. “What about you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He finished the coffee, burning his tongue in his haste. He wrote the address of the pub on a piece of parchment and slid it to her. “Meet me at this address at noon. We'll both talk to him.”

Ginny folded the parchment in half, then in quarters. “I'll Fire-call Mum to see if she can watch James.”

Harry kissed her and tasted the sadness on her lips. Damn Malfoy.

&*&*&

Hermione sent an inter-office memo plane to him that morning requesting he meet her in her office at ten. He hoped she had the information he wanted on the Muggle-baiting. It would be the best thing to happen so far today. His morning was going as well as he had expected, with departmental meetings and the weekly reports due. He filed the paper away. It would not do for his supervisor to see the memo from her until he had the information he needed and a plan formulated. He worked diligently until he needed to leave for the appointment. 

Hermione was in her office, her hair pulled back absently with a quill stuck through it to keep it out of her line of sight. She had a small smudge of ink on her fingers and one on her cheek. Harry cleared his throat to let her know he was there. Hermione's gaze darted up. “Harry. You're early aren't you?” 

Harry stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He shook his head with a rueful laugh. “No, you're just busy.” 

“I compiled the statistics you wanted on the Muggle-baiting,” she said, pushing a heavy-laden folder towards him. “It's by no means complete. We, for example, don't know how many squibs were created.” 

“D'you think any were?” Harry asked. 

“No,” Hermione said. “Many of the women who were raped were killed, but there is evidence that at least one Death Eater may have been involved in preserving some of them. Most of those who were saved and impregnated seemed to have carried their babies to term. All of those children are wizards. It may have been that Death Eater’s aim to create a Wizarding underclass. Why else would a loyal Death Eater to save them?” 

“That particular Death Eater wasn't under orders from Voldemort, I can assure you,” Harry said. When Hermione raised her chin in a questioning gesture, Harry added, “It was Snape. He's the one who helped them.” 

Hermione leaned back in her chair shock and a knowing cunning registering on her features. “How do you know this Harry? Does this have something to do with Malfoy, or not?” 

“'Mione, I can't tell you everything right now but in a way, it does.” 

“Do tell. Malfoy has a meeting with you, gives you a suspect manuscript, and leads you to this distasteful aspect of, for all I know, his own activities, and you... Can't... Talk... About... It?” She slapped her desk in punctuation to her question. “Why, after all this time are you interested in these women?” 

Harry mumbled, “Malfoy made me aware of them.” 

“Draco?” Hermione's eyes flashed darkly. “Since when does he have a conscience? Do you remember the crimes he admitted to committing in his trial? Do you remember what he tried to do to Professor Dumbledore? Do you remember what his father did to Ginny?” The unspoken question hung in the air between them; do you remember how he treated me? 

“He's not his father, and he has changed.” Harry said his inflection flat. “I'm not here to argue with you. I just needed the information. I've got to go. Thanks Hermione.” 

Harry stood stiffly. Hermione turned back to her paperwork in dismissal. Once Harry was out of his friend's office, he leaned against the door. “Well, that went well.” 

&*&*&

Harry met Ginny at the pub that he had seen Malfoy in earlier that week. She looked a little worse for wear. He asked ruefully, “Rough trip?” 

Ginny pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I had to take the Underground. It made me ill from all the shaking.” 

Harry kissed her nose. “I'm sorry, Darling. I should have met you at the Ministry so we could Apparate together. I wasn't thinking.” 

They entered the dark interior. Harry scanned the room for the familiar blond head, but had no luck. Ginny suggested, “Let's just sit and wait for him. I'm sure he'll be along soon.” 

They made their way to a booth in the back of the smallish room. A bored, gum-chewing woman came and took their drink orders. Harry smiled at his wife as he noted the avid interest she was paying to her surroundings. Arthur was not the only one in the Weasley clan interested in everything Muggle. Harry had discovered his wife's private stash of artefacts three months after their wedding. She seemed fascinated by paper-goods and pens, and secreted them away like a magpie. He watched with some amusement as she pocketed a paper coaster. 

The pub was bare at this time of day, but Harry noticed several rough-looking men gathered in the corner. He readied his wand in case there was trouble. The door to the outside opened and one of the men stood. “Oi, Liz. Any word?” 

Harry followed the woman's progress to the cluster of men in the corner as he recognized her as the one he had seen Monday. It seemed like a year ago. One of the men grabbed her in a rough embrace and patted her on her back. Harry stood, and watched as the man turned away from the woman. She handed him a flannel that she snagged from the behind bar and turned her attention to the other patrons of the pub. Harry noted her reddened eyes and the dull expression on her face as she searched. She spied him and came over. “Yer Potter, right? I saw you the other day in here with Drake. This must be yer wife.” 

The woman pointed her thumb rudely at Ginny, saying no more. Ginny smiled sweetly in return. 

“Yes. Ginny, this is Liz,” Harry answered. “Where is Malfoy? He was supposed to meet me here, unless I'm mistaken,” 

The woman's gaze shifted to Ginny, then back to Harry's face. “You read it then, both of you?” 

Ginny nodded. The Muggle woman sighed heavily. “Father Ian asked me to fetch you back to Drake and Tish's flat.” 

Harry gestured for the woman to lead on, and then helped his wife to stand. Ginny had become unusually solemn. She ventured to Liz, “I hope everything is well.” 

The sharp-faced Muggle made no answer. The two-wizarding folk followed in silence onto the street. The walked a few blocks and then turned up an alleyway that ran next to a Vietnamese soup shop. Following Liz up the stairwell on the side of the building, Harry halted. He noticed the woman take a shuddering breath as she fumbled with the lock on the door. “I'm sorry I’m actin’ so rude. It's just that Tish died last night and Drake hasn't been his self. Father thought it might help if some of his own kind was around.” 

Harry took the keys gently from her hand and twisted the lock open. He noticed two black-clad men beside a gurney, standing idly in the hall. Ginny preceded the woman through the door. “I'm so sorry, dear. The way Draco described her, she sounded like such a lovely person. I wish I could have met her.” 

“Yeah, she was lovely,” Liz said her voice small. “Their flat is number four.” 

Harry waited for Liz and his wife in a hall lined with scarred walls and doors. He had not realized what squalor Draco had fallen into until now. Liz said, “You two go on in. I've got to fetch my boy from school.” 

Harry let them in with the keys and was overcome by the sweet odour of burnt flesh. Ginny covered her nose. “Harry, what’s that smell?” 

“I'm sorry about the stench. Tish was undergoing radiation treatments and the odour clings.” A large man, dressed in the dark suit of Catholic Clergy, greeted them solemnly as he from an overstuffed chair of indeterminate vintage in the corner. “You must be Potter.” 

“You're Father Cavanaugh?” Harry shook the man's extended hand, as the priest nodded. “This is my wife, Ginny.” 

“Yes, Draco was telling me about you two,” the man said. Harry looked around the room. Draco's well-bred taste was evident in the arrangement of the shabby furnishings and the colours that warmed the walls. The priest gestured for them to take a seat. “Mr. Potter, I know that you and my friend were not close, but I must ask you to intervene on my sister's behalf. He has not allowed the undertakers into the flat to take her body for burial. He says there is a rite against _Inferi_ that must be performed, and until it's done...” 

The priest's voice broke. 

Ginny gasped. “Harry, do you know how to perform it?” 

“Ginny, I hardly think it's necessary...” Harry began, but at the look on his wife's face wisely clamped his mouth shut over the rest of the words. “No. I've only seen it done once for F-fred, and you and Arthur were the ones who did it.” 

Ginny turned to the priest. “Can you show me where her body is, please?” 

“This isn't some pagan ceremony is it?” the priest asked, blanching. “My sister was a good Catholic.” 

“No, it's just something to ease Malfoy's mind about his... wife's remains,” Harry assured him. 

The priest nodded, and then led them down a short hallway to a closed door. He tapped on it, darting a glance at the wand now evident in Ginny's hand. “Draco, Mr. Potter and his wife are here. Can't you come out?” 

An infant's weak cry was all that answered the query. The priest knocked harder. “Draco, they said they would perform the rite. Please, son, open the door.” 

The door swung open with a slight squeal. 

The sight that met his eyes took Harry aback. He had seen death before; sudden, battlefield death that showed no signs other than the violence that the person had met. This woman's death had been ugly. She had wasted from what Draco had described as stunning beauty to a cadaverous parody of that loveliness. 

Harry spied a Muggle snap on the wall of the couple obviously taken before the disease had exacted its toll on her body. She had been exotically beautiful, with slightly African features, pale, golden-brown hair that rivalled Hermione's in bushiness, and a lustrous full-lipped smile. In the photo, she was looking shyly at Draco and he returned her gaze with obvious love. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. 

Draco was skirting the edge of the bed, jiggling the crying infant in his arms his wand held behind the child's back. He did not acknowledge their presence with more than a swift upward motion of his pain-dulled eyes. Ginny approached him and brushed his arm softly. “Draco, give Harry your son. Scorpius needs to be out of here when we perform the spells.” 

Malfoy wordlessly handed his son to his former sworn-enemy his eyes never leaving Ginny's face. Harry took the priest with him out of the room. Once in the parlour, Father Cavanaugh escorted the waiting undertakers into the flat. Ginny exited the room shortly thereafter pulling a dry-eyed Malfoy behind her. 

Harry was struck by the commonplace business of death. He had been around enough of it to know the processes intimately. He was sick of it. The child nuzzled his tiny fist fussily and nudged Harry's chest. Malfoy scooped the boy from Harry's arms and went to the kitchen area. He retrieved a bottle from the fridge and heated it in a small microwave 

The room took on an airless quality as the woman's body was moved from the flat to the hallway. Draco's eyes followed its progress. With a shudder, Malfoy turned from the spectacle and tested the baby's bottle against his wrist before he let the child suckle. 

Harry said, “We've made our decision, Malfoy. We won't be his godparents,” Ginny started to protest, but Harry cut her off, “Unless you promise not to give up. He needs his father now more than ever. If you promise not to end your life right now, we'll consent. Deal?” 

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. He finally said, in a voice rusty from pain, “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

Draco struggled to enter the small office in the heart of Muggle London, a bulky playpen hampering his progress. He wrestled the object through the door and stepped aside as Liz followed him in with eighteen month-old Scorpius on her hip and eight-year Toby in tow. Draco began setting the playpen up in the reception area. It would have to be moved tomorrow before they opened the office for the first day of business, but while they worked, at least he could keep and eye on his son. 

Liz said, as she began stripping Scorpius out of his layer of light spring clothing, “Drake, are you sure you want me here? I mean, I didn't even finish fifth form.”

Draco finished with the playpen and with exasperated good-humour scolded his friend, “Shut the bloody hell up, Liz, for the last time. You're the one who is going to be the first contact with the Wizarding world for these Muggles. You'll be perfect.”

She placed Scorpius in his pen and watched as Draco pulled the shrunken toys from his pockets. “But you'll teach me how to speak posh around that old Dragon-lady, won't you?”  
Draco set the toys in the pen, resizing them, and watched with pride as Scorpius set them flying. “McGonagall is not a Dragon-lady, and I told you she would only be here for a short while before she retires as Headmistress.”

“But...” Liz bit the inside of her cheek again.

“Go file, Liz,” Draco said, laughing. “Or I'll find something disgusting for you to do.”

Liz stalked to the filing cabinets, grumbling dire things, no doubt. Draco turned his attention to the silent boy who stood beside him. “Toby, could you find someplace special for these, please?”

Draco pulled a shrunken Muggle photo of Tish out of his pocket along with the ivory miniature of Narcissa. He cast the charm to make them normal-sized and placed them in the reverently outstretched hands of the waiting child. Toby bowed slightly and said, “Thank you for allowing me the honour, sir.”

Draco suppressed a laugh. “Liz, I think you should really rethink naming your boy after Snape.”

He turned to the door of the office, an old-fashioned glass and wood configuration, better suited for the 1940's era detective films that Liz enjoyed, than for a modern Ministry of Magic annex. He had struggled for days to come up with an appropriate name for his newly developed department.

With Potter's help, he had been named the Liaison between Muggle-borns, victims of Death Eater attacks and Hogwarts. He had his job cut out for him. Granger and McGonagall had compiled a list of over one hundred women saved by Snape during the war. In addition to these children, many more Muggle-borns were being added to the rolls of Hogwarts, statistically more than predicted from previous years. Magic had been on the rise in the past few years after the Voldie-war, as the Prophet had dubbed it. 

Draco's job was to help Muggle families adapt their routines to their magical children. Liz's job would be to pull the families into the Wizarding world. Draco had no doubt she would do well in that position. He had already set up programmes that would allow the children that resulted from the Death Eater attacks who had been sent to Muggle orphanages and group homes, to be fostered by Wizarding families. He had been surprised by the overwhelmingly positive response of his world to these unfortunate children. The Weasley's had taken in five to foster. No surprise there, but he was happy for the children anyway.

He waved his wand and added the final flourish to his door. Gold letters spelled out Office of Public Relations for Hogwarts School, Scotland, Draco Malfoy, Advisor. However little sense it made, he had been constrained against referring to magic. He added another flourish at the bottom, a small snake-like design. Turning his attention to the antiseptically white walls of the office, he decided on a cool Slytherin-green, with silver accents. Let the Muggles know to what house they should aspire. Slytherin really could do with an infusion of new blood, and if all the young wizards and witches were as powerful as his son and adoptive nephew, Slytherin would do very well with them. 

He turned toward his son. The boy was beautiful just as his mother had been. He had Draco's sharply pointed features and his mother's lovely lips. His hair was white-blond with the slightest wave to it and his eyes were a deep, mossy green. Draco felt a breath of air stir against his neck. “He's perfect, isn't he, My Angel?”

The air stirred his son's hair lightly ruffling it as if it were a caress. Tears came to Draco's eyes. “I miss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to leave a review.


End file.
